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A Dixie Gentleman. 

A IIoubI 



INDIANAPOLIS. 

THE SYNDICATE PRESS. 
1895. 



A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER I. 

Melton is one of those pleasant, quiet, restful little villages which 
nestle among the hills lining the banks of the Cumberland river, and is 
situated labout half way going down westward from the Cumberland 
range on the east to the enterprising city of Nashville, Tennessee’s 
handsome capital. The rapid mountain stream circles partially around 
it with a broad, majestic curve, and the surrounding hills seem to gaze 
protectingly down upon its peaceful contentment. 

The present inhabitants of this pretty little hill town present a won- 
derful contrast to those of the surrounding cities and towns. Many of 
them at least make no pretensions toward keeping apace with the pro- 
gessive ideas of the day, and live on year after year with little heed to 
the change of customs and innovations of fashions. And yet these peo- 
ple are astonishingly well informed as to the business of the outside 
world, and especially with regard to the neighboring towns, although 
their own method of living would evidence a well-defined symptom of 
contempt for exhibitions of enterprise in general. However, there is a 
deep-seated cause for this state of things. 

f According to tradition, the founders of Melton, a hundred or more 
years ago, were possessed of considerable ambition. They believed that 
it would become a rich and powerful business center, and so prevalent 
was this belief that many families of more or less wealth and distinction 
emigrated from Virginia and the Carolinas- and settled in its vicinity. 


2 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


Melton was the very spot of all others, thought they, where the 
giant North would stoop down to kiss his proud and lovely sister, the 
sunny South. Long trains of freight wagons, loaded down with the riches 
of one section, would pass through Meltom on their way to another sed". 
tion, and the beautiful valleys would resound with the hum of busy 
traffic. A bustling city, with handsome buildings and glittering spires, 
would soon mark the place so recently familiar to the silent abori- 
gines of stealthy tread. 

So earnestly did the prophetic utterances of these settlers impress 
themselves upon the minds of the people composing the newly formed 
state that it became a matter for serious consideration whether the state 
capital should not be located at this point. 

But the hopes of Meltonians were not destined to be fulfilled, for 
the simple reason that the young city in embryo had a dangerous rival, 
iind no doubt many of them became green with envy as they were com- 
pelled to sit down and watch the bustle of business hurrying past them 
and pointing straight for the detested village of Nashville. What sim- 
pletons business people were, thought they, not to know that the induce- 
ments of Melton to become aj flourishing metropolis were immensely 
superior to those of Nashville. 

It was true that the business people might argue, with a good 
show of reason, that if you once accomplished the dangerous feat of get- 
ting down into Melton one could never entertain the hope of getting out 
again quite as safely. The roads leading into town were twisted and 
curled over high, steep and rocky hills, often rendered treacherous by 
washing rains, and never a source of delight to weary team and traveler. 

^ Be all this as it may, such vain and futile hopes of the old Melton 
inhabitants had long ago been buried with them, and the idea that 
Melton was to be a great metropolis was no more to be thought of by 
the people who lived there at the beginning of our story than that the 
great bluff on the opposite side of the river would one day raise up a 
pair of immense wings and fly away to parts unknown. So dead and de- 
cayed and forgotten were all such ideas indeeed that not only did the 
citizens of Melton watch the village of Nashville spring up into a great 
and enterprising city, but many other villages even nearer began to grow 
into places of importance and influence, busy with the hum of life and 
traffic, alive with mills and factories, and deafened by the screeching of 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


3 


the locomotive, while Melton steadily maintained its mysterious silence 
— and even so it remains to this good day. 

Nevertheless, Melton was a good place in which to live, more es- 
pecially for one who had grown weary of the busy world without, and 
some of those who were born there had never fully awakened to the ne- 
cessity of struggling for dear life in ox'der to live, and contented them- 
selves with the good-for-nothing, lazy existence which seemed to pervade 
the very atmosphere of the little village among the -hills. 

It must not be thought, however, from this description of Melton 
that no business was carried on there, for in its own sort of way it was 
still, as of yore, a very important place. It was a county-seat, and on 
certain court days in the year became the scene of large gatherings for 
multifarious purposes. On such occasions a number o»f lawyers from 
neighboring towns would be among the visitors. Then there would be 
the circuit, chancery and county court judges, the sheriff and his deputies 
the county magistrates and constables and other county officers; there 
would be parties plaintiff in lawsuits, and parties defendant in lawsuits, 
together with vast numbers of witnesses concerned in such lawsuits; there 
would be parties about to commence lawsuits, to compromise lawsuits, 
and to hold off lawsuits, and, as a lawyer would be apt to say, ad libitum. 
Outside of the regular court business on such days, large crowds would 
gather, each individual member thereof with some distinct business of 
his own — some to buy goods at one of the half-dozen stores, some to 
find a good purchaser for their land, some to swap horses or to trade in 
mules (for at this time the old-time habit of trading in negroes had been 
vetoed by the government), and some for no other purpose than to swap 
chews of tobacco and indulge in idle conversation. 

Court days accordingly were great holidays for Melton, and all 
other days, with a few rare exceptions, were as much alike as two peas 
in a pod. Those other days w-ere usually begun with a listless, half- 
creeping sort of energy that characterized the proceedings of the day 
throughout, and few events were worthy of notice, save the departure of 
the stage-coach in the morning and its arrival again late in the evening. 
A long, loud blast from the driver’s bugle in the evening from the top of 
a distant hill was always the signal for the village people to turn out 
en masse, old and young, and assemble together at the postoffice door, 
awaiting the opening of the mail. When this event of the day was over, 


4 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


it was the universally recognized time for the entire village to retire for 
the night, and thus another day of the calendar was allowed to pass by. 

Besides the courthouse, which was one of the 1790 pattern of archi- 
tecture, the town contained three churches, two school buildings, four 
dr five general stores, a drug store — which also carried a full line of 
harness, hardware, molasses and wagon grease — a blacksmith shop, six 
or seven lawyers’ offices, four doctors’ offices, and a very small printing 
office. The latter issued a weekly edition of what might have been con- 
sidered' in the eighteenth century a most wonderful newspaper, but was 
now somewhat behind the date, and conducted by a young man who did 
his utmost to acceptably fill all the important and minor positions of a 
great newspaper office at one and the same time. Not having enough to 
do to keep him busy night and day, the citizens also honored him with 
the office of justice of the peace, of which the little town boasted two. 

The editor’s rival in legal business was Mr. Samuel Turnspoke — 
more familiarly known as ’Squire Sam. Although not an uncommonly 
shrewd man-of business in other respects, ’Squire Sam seldom allowed 
his wisdom regarding the statutes to be called into question. He was 
of a short, bulky stature, unusually large about the waistband, and of a 
jovial disposition, always in a laughing humor except when called upon 
to preserve the peace and dignity of the State as laid down in the code. 
The squire was an uncompromising foe to pert young lawyers who pre- 
sumed too much upon their knowledge of the aforesaid “statoots.” All 
that was neccessary to arouse his wrath during the progress of a lawsuit 
was a reference to some decision of his rival, the editor, and whenever 
he was in need of a comparison by which to measure the ignorance of a 
too frisky young lawyer he did not hesitate to refer to his rival. 

On these occasions he was wont to declare that he did not make 
much pretension to knowledge, outside of the statutes as laid down in the 
code, but upon these points who had a right to be better informed than 
he? Was he not elected by the good people of Mellon for that particu. 
lar purpose, and had he not been commissioned by the Governor of the 
State for that particular purpose? Who had any right to deny these 
nuts of wisdom which he would sometimes propound to the crowd at- 
tendant upon his court? Finding no one prepared to contradict such 
Straightforward, commonsense wisdom as that, he would lay back in his 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


5 


seat and direct the lawyers, some one of whom had made some legal ob- 
jection to his rulings, to proceed with the case. 

’Squire Sam was a very good type of his class — and the class com- 
posed the dignitaries of the county court. Of all the ignorant bodies of 
men banded together for judicial purposes, these .self-same county courts, 
as a rule, are decidedly the worst. It would seem that if an old man 
can be found in the community who is utterly worthless for any other 
business purpose, who has made a failure of a* dozen other callings in 
life, whose ignorance in connection with common law are paramount to 
his stubbornness of will in resisting all enlightment from any quarter 
concerning his duties as a justice, and who is too decidedly lazy to allow 
himself to become the tool of good, honest labor — if such a man can be 
found, he is usually the foremost man of all others who could be unani- 
mously chosen to the office of justice of the peace. He must not ap- 
proach to the elevation of being an authority upon Biblical matters; he 
has no taste for ^literature — not even a newspaper; he would never be 
mistaken, anywhere or at any time, for a school-master; he is not capa- 
ble of entering into a discussion with a doctor, a scientist or a scholar; 
and concerning the devious windings of the law he has no knowledge 
whatever except that portion strictly laid down in the “statoots.” 
These remarks may be applied to justices in general, of whom, as before 
remarked, ’Squire Sam was a very good representative. 

One evening in February ’Squire Sam was sitting atop of a barrel 
behind a stove in the back end of one of the village groceries, engaged as 
usual on winter evenings, and quite, often during the summer, in whit- 
tling a stick. It must not be presumed that such an occupation was 
considered at all undignified within the business circles of Melton. 
Whittling was the chief business of the village during nine-tenths of the 
I year. For a stranger to become properly introduced and throughly ac- 
quainted in Melton, the first thing to do was to establish himself as a 
thorough whittler. He might be allowed to think of various other 
things during its progress; he might talk and laugh, and even wink in 
any vein whatsoever he pleased, but the most important of all things he 
had to do was to whittle. And when he had once throughly established 
himself as a whittler, he must keep on whittling. Other smaller affairs 
might withdraw his attention for a moment or two at a time, but it 
must be something of an extraordinary nature indeed that prevented him 


6 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


in a brief while from returning to his regular occupation of whittling. 
To whittle or not to whittle — that was the main question. And thus 
it was that ’Squire Sam was among the first and foremost of all the 
whittlers. • 

, “Is ’Squire Sam here?” a voice inquired at the door of the grocery. 

Several voices replied in the affirmative, and the squire himself 
jumped down from the barrel top and came around in front of the stove, 
when he declared that he •was the individual sought for. 

“Will you be kind enough to step this way a few moments?” the firsj. 
speaker inquired again, and after the squire had waddled outside of the 
door, where he encountered two men and a boy, he was informed that 
they desired to secure a writ of replevin in order to get possession of 
some walnut logs contained in a raft which had been recently landed at 
the river bank, which logs they claimed to have been stolen. Moreover, 
the party were in a great hurry to proceed on their way to Nashville and 
desired the justice to serve the papers as quickly as possible. 

It was not an unusual thing to see rafts of logs floating past Melton 
at any time when the rushing Cumberland was sufficiently high. In fact, 
the river furnished the only means of transportation for the inhabitants 
of the upper Cumberland country during nine-tenths of the year. And 
frequently the raftsmen would tie up their rafts and stop over at Melton 
for the night, not caring to risk the swift curves of the river under cover 
of darkness. 

’Squire Sam, although pretending otherwise, was secretly delighted 
at the prospect of an exciting lawsuit, not only on account of the feeg 
which inured to his own benefit, but also as Turnishing occasiop for the 
demonstration of his own* importance among the villagers. He at once 
invited his visitors to accompany him to his office, just a little way up 
the street. This office had been designated as such for many years, but 
was pretentious only in name, as it was about seven feet square and con- 
tained only a door and window. The furniture consisted of three chairs 
and a table, on which lay a large volume of the Tennessee code. 

Arriving at the office, the squire ushered in his visitors and seated 
himself at the table, adjusted his spectacles, opened the book and search, 
ed for instructions as to warrants, having found which he opened a 
drawer in the table, pulled out a pen, ink and paper and began to write 
out the legal process. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


7 


The complainant stated that his name was John White, and that he 
wished to bring suit against Henry Hobart and his two sons, Charles 
and Stephen, for having appropriated three walnut logs belonging to 
Mr. White and fastening them in their own raft, which was then tied up 
at the river bank near the village of Melton. 

Now with ’Squire Sam to attempt to do anything in a hurry and 
really doing it were two entirely different things, for with the vast 
amount of bnstle and preparation, and forgetting something important 
and having it all to do over again, it usually took him twice as long as it 
should have done. But on this occasion he really surprised himself for 
once, and got all the necessary papers in readiness and put them in the 
officer’s hands within the twinkling of an eye, as he was often heard to 
express it afterward. 

The officer proceeded at once to execute his trust, and found the 
Hobarts at one of the two village hotels without difficulty, where he 
served notice upon them restraining them from proceeding down the 
river with their raft until such time as they had shown proof that they 
did not have Mr. White’s logs in their possession, and citing them to trial 
before ’Squire Sam on the next morning at ten o’clock. 

It was evident to ’Squire Sam, as it no doubt would have been to 
any other individual situated in his exalted position, that the approach- 
ing trial was to be something out of the ordinary course of common petty 
trials, and it was not his manner of exhibiting his self-importance to 
allow the rest of the village to retire for the night without mysteriously 
mentioning to several of them that a very important case would be call- 
ed in his court on the morrow at exactly ten o’clock. Of course this 
was interpreted by the village to mean that if they wished to see the 
majesty of the law exemplified after the original and fully acceptable 
style of Samuel Turnspoke they should be on hand promptly at the hour 
named. 

And as a trial of some importance was a rare thing in Melton out- 
side of court term, and quite likely to furnish food for gossip during the 
whittling process of several weeks, to say the least of it, the news rapidly 
spread from mouth to mouth, and e^re an hour had passed away the 
populace were quite feverish with anxiety awaiting the coming morn. 

The night finally wore away, as all nights will in the course of 
time, and after the villagers had partaken of their morning meal and 


8 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


watched the stage-coach roll away out of town, they once more turned 
their attention to the approaching trial, if in fact their attention had 
been entirely drawn away from it during their somewhat feverish dreams 
of the preceding night. They would stand or sit about in groups, 
anxiously watching for the appearance of some one of the parties in- 
terested in the lawsuit, wondering among themselves what sort of a case 
could be gotton up between the owners of two rafts while floating down 
the river, as the trial would doubtless have occured somewhere else if the 
cause of the suit had originated before the rafts had started. 

Even the appearance of ’Squire Sam upon the scene could not re- 
lieve their minds upon this subject, for he had suddenly become too dig- 
nified and reserved in his manner toward his whittling associates to hint 
at the nature or venture any opinion whatsoever concerning the lawsuit, 
and it would seem that he, also, was watching for the appearance of the 
interesting parties, probally for the purpose of forming some idea in his 
own mind what his verdict would be. Such dignitaries as ’Squire Sam, 
it hould be stated here, do not always have to wait, like ordinary juries, 
to hear the testimony in a case before being able to make up their minds 
as to whom the verdict should be in favor of, and it very often happens 
that the party most able to pay over the costs, by virtue of a justice of 
the peace’s necessities, should summarily have the case adjudged against 
him, for it is not written in the “statoot” where any party has rights 
whereby the payment of a justice’s fee would be endangered or delayed 
— else why should he be chosen by the people and commissioned by the 
Governor of the State? 

Fully an hour before the time fixed fo trial all parties to the suit 
appeared upon the main street of the village, and one man, who was 
pointed out by some one as the defendant, was seen to be gesticulating 
and talking quite angrily to one of his crew, as though he were indig- 
nant at the idea of being accused of the theft of the logs, and fully pre- 
pared to meet his accuser face to face and prove the idea to be preposter- 
ous in the last degree. 

The plaintiff, on the other hand, seemed to be taking matters very 
quietly, and occasionally was to be seen in earnest conversation with one 
of the village lawyers, Josiah Fogg, Esq., of the well-known firm of Fogg 
& Blum, who practiced not only in the courts of Pike and surrounding 
counties, but also in the supreme court of the State. Mr. Fogg would 


A DIXIE GENTLEMA^^. 


9 


alternately look over the papers, which had been returned duly executed 
by the officer, and then ask some questions, either addressed to Mr. 
White or Tom Barry, a raftsman belonging to Mr. While’s crew, and 
wearing quite a hopeful air, as though it were an immaterial affair to 
him which one of the village lawyers might be pitted against him for the 
defendant, he was confident that the result would be thoroughly satisfac- 
tory to himself and client. 

It may be remarked in passing that this confident air and members 
of a village bar are quite inseparable so long as a case renlains undecided, 
after which it quickly changes to one of infinite superiority in every 
respect to the fallen foe, or else the look becomes one of martyred resig- 
nation to the opinions of an ignorant justice or jury and a set determina- 
tion to appeal to a more enlightened sphere of knowledge, provided his 
client should but hint his acquiescence. One of these three looks belong 
as certainly, to the phiz of a village barrister as the look of a preserver of 
peiice and dignity belongs to a justice of the peace. In point of absence 
of such a look in either case the digestion or liver is certainly out of 
order and needs a severe physic. 

At the hour of ten the little office of ’Squire Sam was crowded to its 
utmost capacity, and the appearance of the window indicated that a good 
many listeners were on the outside who would much rather be within, 
but could accomplish nothing more than crane their necks and poke their 
heads in once in awhile and then withdraw them in order to give room 
for other heads just as eager to catch a glimpse of the interesting scene 
within. 

“Silence in court,” uttered the dignified presence of ’Squire Sam, 
as he sat behind the little table with his hat off, his spectacles pushed 
back' over his head, and the large volume of the code opened before him. 
‘-‘Gentlemen, are you ready to proceed with the case of White vs. 
Hobart?” he continued, as he gave a nod in the direction of Mr. Fogg. 

“Yes, your honor; we are ready,” replied that functionary. “And 
what says the defendant?” the justice queried, looking in the direction of old 
men Hobart, who was seen talking rather hurriedly to another one of the 
village lawyers, whom it seemed had been sent for at the last moment, 
and had just entered the room, namely Felix Joran, Esq. . . 


10 


A DIXIE gDNTlDMAN. 


“Ready in one minute, your honor,” said the latter gentleman, who 
continued the conversation with Hobart for some minutes afterward. 

Directly Lawyer Joran stepped up before the table and moved in a 
high-toned, squeaking voice, with a peculiar nasal twang, that the case 
should be dismissed. 

“State your grounds for such a motion, sir,” said ’Squire Sam rather 
indignantly, for he had no idea of letting the defendant off without some 
sort of a trial, even if he should see fit to tax Mr. White with all the 
costs, which, in honor to his quickness of judgment, it may be said that 
he had about concluded to do. 

“Well your honor,” said Lawyer Joran, “you have no jurisdiction 
in this case, and therefore cannot try it.” 

Now this was a question directly effecting the fees of a justice of the 
peace, who had been chosen by the people and commissioned by the 
Governor of the State, and was not to be tolerated even for a moment, 
and especially when raised by a village lawyer, and ’Squire Sam, glaring 
savagely at the unfortunate Joran, Esq., and quite red in the .face at the 
thoughts of his astounding impudence, demanded to know why he could 
not try the case. 

“Because, your honor,” said the defendants’ council, “the theft 
charged in the plaintiff’s affidavit, if committed at all, must have been 
committed on one of the rivers of the United States, over which the 
federal courts of the United States have exclusive jurisdiction, and the 
case can only be brought before a federal commissioner.” 

This rather startling method of taking the case completely out of 
’Squire Sam’s court caused his eyes to bulge out considerably and his 
breath to come in short gasps instead of a regular way. However, he 
began to prepare himself for a desperate legal encounter rather ’than 
yield up the case and all prospects of a good-sized fee. To this end he 
plunged into the code with both hands and his spectacles, and vainly en- 
deavored to hit upon some arbitrary “statoot” which would finally silence 
the young barrister. 

While he was thus engaged the plantiffs’ counsel came to his relief 
by declaring that the arrest for the crime charged, and the notice for the 
civil action to be brought had all taken place while the de fendant 
was on the shore, and he was accordingly amenable to the State law, 
and, furthermore, that a civil action could be brought before a justice of 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


II ' 

i ^ 

t he peace at any time against a person who was a resident of the state. 

This argument settled the question at once, and ’Sqiure Sam imme- 
diately proceeded to emphasize his importance as a legal functionary of 
the Melton public by administering a sound verbal drubbing to the 
young barrister, whom the squire considered had been guilty of a gross 
piece of impertinence. 

“Now, Joran, you are a fine specimen of a lawyer to tell this court 
what to do. This court knows its business, and the less you have to say 
about it the better for you, let me tell you that. If you want to practice 
before this court you will hev to study up on the statoots. You don’t 
know enny mor’n that little editur down the street. Now don’t be tel- 
lin’ me what cases I can try^and what I can’t. This court knows its 
business. 

“Now, gentlemen, if you are ready we will proceed with this case.” 
And as ’Squire Sam said this he removed his contemptuous glance from 
the crestfallen Joran, shoved his spectacles to the top of his cranium, 
and surveyed the audience, or as much as he could see of it. ^ 

The affidavit of Mr. White was then read by Mr. Fogg, which stated 
that the Hobarts had appropriated three of his walnut logs to their own 
use, the value of which was $150, and which asked the justice to issue a 
writ of replevin whereby the logs might be returned to him. After this was 
read Mr. White himself was called upon to take the witness stand and 
state all he knew about the case, which he did as follows: 

“My name is John White, am forty-seven years of age, and live on 
the Cumberland river, about fifty miles above Melton. During the win- 
ter I have prepared a raft of walnut logs to carry to Nashville. I had 
forty-three logs rolled to the bank of the river at our landing, known 
as White’s Landing, and branded on one end in marking ink with the 
initials “J. W.” T.wo or three days ago, while preparing to fasten 
them together, I discovered that three of the logs were missing. After 
an examination I found they a-od been rolled into the iver and taken 
away. On the opposite side of the river, and a quarter of a mile further 
down, lives my neighbor, Mr. Hobart. He had also been constructing 
a raft, and it was understood that we were to go down the river on the 
same day. To my surprise, however, his raft left a day earlier than was 
intended, and when the logs were missed my suspicions were directed toward 
the Hobarts. We followed after their raft as soon as we could get away, 


12 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


and overtook them at this point. While the Hobart raft was deserted, 
the owner and crew having come up to Melton to stop over night, we 
boarded their raft and examined their logs. We finally succeeded in 
identifying the stolen logs, my brand having been partially chopped 
away and the Hobart brand substituted with red keel.” 

To substantiate this statement of Mr. White, his son Walter, aged 
fourteen, and Tom Barry were introduced as witnesses. Their answers 
to the questions of the lawyers were strictly in accordance with the fore- 
going, and at this point the plantiff rested his side of the case until the 
defense could give their side of the matter. Mr. Hobart was first called, 
and indignantly denied that he knew anything about Mr. White’s logs, 
stating that all the logs contained in his raft belonged to him and his boys. 
Charles and Stephen Hobart followed with a similar denial, and this 
concluded the testimony of the defense. 

Lawyer Joran’s face was wreathed in smiles and the defendants ac- 
cordingly inspired with the belief that the plantiffhad failed to make out a 
sufficient case against them. But they were evidently totally unprepared 
fot the next scene in the trial. Lawyer Fogg cast a hasty glance over his 
papers, and calmly looking around him inquired if Robert Fenton was 
present. Receiving an affirmative response from a rather quite and 
grave-looking young man, with bright gray eyes, and chestnut, curly 
locks of hair, brushed away from a broad white forehead, the lawyer 
directed him to come around and be sworn. 

The young man came forward as directed and, with uplifted hand, 
was sworn by the court to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing 
but the truth, while the Hobarts seemed to be so utterly overcome with 
astonishment that they had lost all power of action. Before an examina- 
tion of young Fenton was begun, however. Lawyer Joran requested the 
court to stay proceedings for a few moments as he wished to consult his 
clients. For this purpose they walked out of the office and some little 
distance away from it, and a grim smile overspread the features of Law- 
yer Fogg as he watched them wildly gesticulating to each other. Pres- 
ently they re-entered the office, and Lawyer Joran addressed the court. 

“May it please the court, we think it untirely uneecessary to listen 
to the evidence of the witness just called, since he took no part in the con- 
struction of either of the rafts and consequently would be rather incom- 
petent to testify.” 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 




But Lawyer Fogg was on his feet in a second. 

“We expect to prove, your honor, that this young man knows a 
good deal about this transaction, and if his testimony should be irrelevant 
it can be excluded by your honor after it is heard.” 

’Squire Sam was full of curiosity himself as to what the young man 
knew, and as he had no idea of ruling him out he ordered the ex- 
amination to proceed at once. 

Not one of the villagers who had gathered about the scene of the 
trial, and could get a view of Fenton as he faced Lawyer Fogg, doubt- 
ed that he would do exactly as he had sworn and speak the truth. There 
was that indefiuable something in his demeanor, in his general appear- 
ance, and in his pleasant but resolute face which declared that he would 
shield no one guilty of a criminal or unneighborly act. 

“What is your name and place of residence?” asked Lawyer Fogg, 

“Robert Fenton, and I reside at Petersburg, Va.” 

“Are you acquainted with the defendant Hobarts, and how long 
have you known them?” 

“Yes, sirj they are, my relatives, nncle and cousins, but I met them 
for the first time only a few days ago.” 

“Please state to the court, Mr. Fenton, all you know concerning 
the Hobart raft and its construction.” 

“I took no part in the construction of the raft, but was present sev- 
eral times while it was being fastened together on the day previous to 
starting down the river. I am compelled to admit that the raft contains 
three* more walnut logs at the present time than it did on the day it was 
put together- I counted the logs while the men were at work because I 
had nothing particular to do, and found there were ten walnut and twen- 
ty-one poplar logs. My first suspicion of something wrong was see- 
ing a large sledge-hammer on the raft the morning we started which I 
had carried up to the house the evening before, and was certain that no 
one had brought down that morning. This together with the fact that 
the raft seemed to be larger than on the day before, and a remark to* 
the same effect by one of the crew, caused me to count the logs again, 
when I found there were three more walnut logs, making thirteen in all. 
I am poistive that the hammer was carried .back to the raft during the 
night, but know nothing of how the logs were added to the raft, or to 
whom they belonged.” 


14 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


However much ’Squire Sam might have preferred to assess the costs 
of the lawsuit against Mr. White, as being the surest means of securing 
his fees, he did not dare to do so in the face of the popular verdict of the 
Hobarts’ guilt. And the latter were too glad to settle the costs, deliver 
up the stolen logs, and get away from Melton as quickly as possible un- ' 
der fear of a criminal prosecution, to stop and parley over matters very 
long. 

So far as young Fenton was concerned, the Hobarts gave him to un- 
derstand that his company upon their raft was no longer desirable, and 
accordingly he was left standing upon the banks of the Cumberland 
wondering what course he should pursue in order to reach Nashville. 
While thus engaged he was approached by Tom Barry, who was sent by 
Mr. White to invite the young stranger to finish the balance of his trip 
aboard their raft, Tom had been the cause of Fenton’s trouble with his 
relatives by inducing Lawyer Fogg to secure Fenton’s testimony, and 
he longed to offer him some service as a reparation for the admirable 
manner in which the witness had told the truth and convicted the rascals, 
although they were his own relatives. * 

. Fenton gladly accepted Mr. White’s offer, and preparations were 
made for the party to start at once. While they were engaged in these 
preparations, however, they were approached by a tall, dignified gentle- 
man, somewhat past the middle age, and familiarly known throughout 
the State as Judge Thornton. He shook hands with' Mr. White, and 
said that he wanted to make the acquaintance of the young man who had 
just testified before the justice. The old judge told Fenton that he 
was a Virginian himself, and was proud to take the hand of one whom 
he felt convinced was a true represent-ative of that noble old common- 
wealth. Others of the villagers also presented themselves, and Fenton 
soon ascertained that in losing two or three ignoble friends he had gain- 
ed many worthy ones by the course which he had taken. They not only 
took him by the hand but urged him to return to Melton at an early 
day and make a more extended visit. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER II. 

In leaving his Virginia home for a western trip, Robert Fenton’s 
objects were manifold. His father and eldest brother, private and cap- 
tain respectively, in the confederate forces, had both fallen in the 
deadly strife at Gettysburg. Robert was not quite old enough to carry 
a musket, or his fate might have been a similiar one. Two years later 
his mother succumbed to the ravages of a fatal disease, leaving the 
future of Robert to the guidance of his aged grandfather, Simeon Fen- 
ton. The old gentleman’s pride in his intelligent grandson was very 
great, for in him he centered all his hopes of perpetuating the family 
name and honor, although his slender means did not permit him to 
bestow upon him the power and influence of a prodigal wealth like that 
which had characterized the household in the days of yore. 

Poor though he was, having been bereft of nearly all his property 
during the war, Simeon Fenton was a Virginian of the old type and of 
the utmost respectability, and he devoted all that could be spared from 
his slender purse to the mainteinance of Robert in his studies at the State 
University and law school, whence he was graduated in his twenty- 
seventh year with many of the honors of his class. 

Upon the advice of his grandfather therefore, and greatly suited to 
his own inclinations, Robert determined upon this western visit, one 
object being to seek a suitable location for the practice of his profession, 
another to visit his relatives, the Hobart family, across the Cumberland 
range, another to brighten his ideas of life in general by travel amid 
newer scenes and stranger people, the benefit of which would be quite 
material since he had never before been out of his native State. # 

j Both grandfather and grandson wisely concluded that, while Vir- 
ginia \v?^s one of the grandest old States in the Union in many re- 


i6 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


spects, it was not to be expected that it would furnish as broad field for 
the labors of a young lawyer as some of the newer western ones, and 
however much his inclinations may have led him to settle down among 
the hallowed scenes of his boyhood, his zeal for the practice of his 
profession and ambitious hopes in connection therewith naturally led 
him to choose a wider scope for his operations than could be obtained 
in a field already overcrowded with illustrious lights. 

But when young Fenton arrived at his Uncle Hobart’s he was 
greatly perplexed and disappointed. He naturally expected to find the 
family belonging to the rougher and hardier class of people which us- 
ually dwell upon the slope of a great mountain, but he could not see 
any reason why they should not be possessed of gentlemanly instincts 
and worthy principles. True, they gave him a greeting that was in- 
tended to be cordial, and which gave evidence of the fact that they 
had cherished the greatest respect for their Virginia relatives, but the 
principles under which the two families had been reared were entirely 
different, and the knowledge of this began early to impress itself upon 
the mind of Robert. 

On the other hand, Robert was so unlike his relatives in training 
and general disposition that the Hobarts began to show that they con- 
sidered him, or rather that he considered himself, as being too im- 
mensely superior to them to form agreeable associations. The truth 
was that Robert did not approve of their ideas of life in general, and, 
try as earnestly as he might, he could not avoid showing his dislike on 
certain occasions. 

His uncle’s household consisted of Henry Hobart, his wife Mary, 
and their two sons, Charles and Stephen, aged respectively eighteen and 
sixteen years. Taken as a family they were as cunning and crafty a set 
as ever lived on the Cumberland Mountain slope, and coupled with a 
love of the dangerous, reckless life common to all mountaineers, it is not 
surprising that they should prefer lives of easy-going and rather indo- 
lent habits to those maintained by steady and well-directed blows after 
the manner of their woodchopping neighbors. They firmly believed and 
acted up to the adage that all work and no play made J ack a dull boy, 
^nd if the scanty subsistence with which they were forced to content 
themselves made it necessary for them to curtail the ad.ige, they 
had been known to bring their cunning craft into play and make inroads 


A DDCIE gentleman. 


17 


upon their kind neighbors’ property in whatever shape they could most 
conveniently appropriate it to their own use, without so much as saying 
by your leave. 

Quite a number of adages could very appropriately pick out the 
Hobart family for examples of application, among which was one be- 
ginning “Birds of a feather flock together, etc.,” and so it was that 
their premises became quite a rendezvous for a number of the most un- 
inviting characters in the mountains, and little trouble would have been 
experienced by an anxious inquirer after a piratical-looking crew to have 
picked one out almost any week, or any day in the week, from the 
frequent visitors to the Hobart mansion. 

As is almost invariably the case with individuals of the Hobart 
persuasion, they were exceeding brave and daring where there was no 
real danger to be apprehended, with bullying natures where women and 
children, and especially weak, ignorant and unoffending negroes were 
concerned, but at the same time craftily avoiding contact with a truly 
brave spirit, and cringing in abject cowardice when confronted with 
real danger. So seldom did the latter occur that they had gained, as 
previously referred to, a reputation for recklessness and daring to 
which they were not justly entitled. 

Robert had not long been a visitor at the Hobart home before he 
began to wonder if they were a representative family of Tennesseeans, 
and his perplexity and disappointment rather increased as, in the course 
of two or three days, he began to see more of their acquaintances. 
He could scarcely tolerate the presence of many of them, and he was 
growing exceedingly doubtful as to whether he would be willing to cast 
his lot in the new west, as the old Virginians termed Tennessee, if the 
population in general partook of this class of people, even though the 
reward of his labors should prove very large. 

The Hobarts gave Fenton an invitation to accompany them to 
Nashville aboard the raft, and he was more than willing to lend them 
assistance in working the raft since he had previously designed visiting 
the capital city, and could thus husband the means which were to be 
used in starting him into business. 

He had been fully aware that the raft had been tampered with, as 
he had related in his testimony, but when he became satisfied at the 
trial that the Hobarts had stolen Mr. White’s logs he was not sorry to 


A GENTLEMAN; 






pan company with his relatives, since he had observed enough to con» 
Vince him that they did not lead the lives of honest citizens and that he 
could not afford to compromise himself by associating with and trying 
to defend them against truthful charges. 

This little episode at the outset of young Fenton’s career, trivial as 
it may appear to the casual observer, proved to be a pivotal point. In 
ruminating over the history of important lives, one is often led to pass 
over a small event but for the happening of which a long train of 
events much more significant and far-reaching in their effects would 
never have occurred. Some individuals are probably disposed to argue 
that, at least in a certain sense, a man is the designer and carver of a 
train of circumstances which he may shape or alter according to will. 
But no sane person believes that an individual, unless he be possessed of 
supernatural powers, can bring about a combination of circumstances 
from which will evolve a train of important events all tending to 
exalt the future of that individual. However much Fenton may have 
desired to break away from further association with his relatives, he 
certainly had no cause or desire to think that it would occur in the 
manner in which it did, and entirely without his own seeking. 

It may be thought a little peculiar that any one in Melton, knowing 
the complete history of this trial, could have seriously designed accusing 
young Fenton of unworthy motivesfor his part in the transaction, and yet 
there are many such unreasonable people^ to be met in everyday life. 
Certainly Lawyer Joran lelt deeply chagrined at the loss of his case, 
which had not afforded the slightest pretext for taking an appeal from 
Squire Sam’s finding. Nor was his chagrin at all lessened by 
the cordial invitations extended to young Fenton by the town people 
as he prepared to depart. But this was not all. That which troubled 
the serenity of Mr. Joran more than all else was the impulsive 
cordiality of Judge Thornton toward the young stranger. To better 
understand this last reference let the reader examine a little into the 
history of Judge Thornton and his most interesting family. 

The section of country in which the scenes of this story, or at least 
so much as has been related, were laid, was loyal to the cause of the Un- 
ion during the late civil war, or rather as much as any section could be 
when lying so near to the dividing line between the great North and 
South. Of course within its province there lived numbers of people 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


who were secretly the friends of the Confederacy, and who did all in 
their power to further its cause, but a large majority of the people were 
friends of the Union and quite a number of them joined the 
ranks of the Union army. To this number Judge Thornton had be- 
longed, and after the war was over his friends had never tired of heap- 
ing honors upon him. He was a faithful and tried soldier in the Union 
cause, he had proved himself to be an able jurist and skillful lawyer, 
and his people had rewarded him by electing him to Congress, and not 
satisfied with thus honoring him, when his first term had expired he was 
re-elected to fill the same honorable position. 

But by the end of his second term he was growing too advanced in 
years to lead an active life in the political arena, and possessor of suffi- 
cient income to render it unnecessary that he should seek further after 
ihe emoluments of office. So, much to the regret of his host of friends 
he declined a second re-election, and thereafter practically retired to pri- 
* vate life near by the shades of Melton. 

The handsome home and beautiful grounds of the Thornton res- 
idence were constant themes of admiration for the village and its visitors. 
The spacious grounds, sloping from the house to the highway, were set 
with noble specimens of the southern forest and tropical plants and 
shrubbery adorned the landscape. The house was a large, roomy brick 
and stone structure, and appeared as a crowning glory to the beautiful 
setting at its feet. Terraced steps led up to the piazza from the circular 
drive in front, and the large old-fashioned hallway reminded one of the 
days when the hospitalities of the South were famous the world over. 

The family of Judge Thornton consisted of himself and wife and 
two daughters. The eldest daughter, Irene, was seventeen 
years of age, a little above the medium height, queenly and graceful 
almost to perfection, of a brunette typ/e, with dark brown hair and very 
dark blue eyes, almost black. Her general disposition was genial and 
pleasant, but there were times, when a petulant passion was aroused 
within her, that her blue eyes would flash, and her usually pleasant face 
gave forth sure indication that her temper was up, when it was woe be- 
tide any poor unfortunate who happened to come under the lashing her 
tongue would surely give. Her temper at certain times obtained com- 
plete mastery over every good feeling that she possessed, and thus pre- 
sented a grave defect in one who might otherwise have proven a per< 


26 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


feet type of true womanhood. This passionate will had belonged to 
her from childhood, and although her parents had endeavored to curb 
it in all possible ways, it was ail in vain, and the older she grew it 
seemed the more ungovernable her passion became. 

Her sister Elsie, three years younger, was quite the reevrse of 
Irene in many -ways. She was rather small in stature, though well pro- 
portioned and gave indications of a lovely and graceful figure. She was 
a perfect blonde, with laughing blue eyes and light brown hair. No 
matter whether laughing, as she almost always appeared to be, or with 
her face drawn down to its very soberest mood, she formed a pleasant 
picture to look upon. Her disposition was just as sweet and sunny as 
her features, and her chief aim in life seemed to be to please those around 
her. More especially did she endeavor to humor each and every whim 
of her sister Irene, and was never so happy as when she had succeeded in 
keeping her in a good humor for hours together. No pleasure was plan- 
ned by her that did not include Irene as the most important object to 
be considered, and whenever her eyes filled with tears, one could most 
surely trace the cause to some wild and passionate utterance of her sis- 
ter Irene. So that, considering the two moods together, she seemed to 
have been created for the express purpose of endeavoring to keep Irene 
in a good humor. 

In point of education, of course, Irene being the eldest, had enjoyed 
many more advantages than her sister. She ha d been brought up care- 
fully by her mother while yet a child, had attended the best schools in 
Washington while her father lived there, and had but lately finished h^r 
education in the most approved manner at a fashionable school for 
young ladies in the city of Nashville, Elsie, on the other hand, had 
never attended anywhere except at the village school at Melton, and 
although her native grace and accomplishments were equal to many 
more advanced in years and advantages, yet she lacked the finishing 
touches which the world requires to be added to a young lady’s educa- 
tion. However, there was plenty of time for that yet, and if anyone 
was at all worried over the matter it was most assuredly not Elsie 
Thornton. 

It was invariably the custom of this happy family, when assembled 
late in the evening at the tea table, to discuss, at whatever length their 
importance demanded, the events of the day just coming to a close. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


21 


Often the old judge and his wife would listen with much interest to an 
account of some gay girlish frolic in which Elsie had been engaged, and 
again the keen, critical sarcasm of Irene, as she often disposed of her 
lady friends with their village beaux dangling about them, would make 
the aged couple feel devoutly thankful that they no longer belonged to 
that class of youngsters. Once in a while the judge himself would re- 
late in his habitually pleasant manner of speaking some amusing occur- 
rence which had come beneath his observation, and Mrs, Thornton did 
not fail to supply some intellectual entertainment when such matters 
were found to be lagging with the others. Thus the family tea-gather- 
ing quite often proved to be the most pleasant hour which the family 
had spent during the day. 

On the evening of the day made memorable for several weeks in 
Melton business circles by the trial which has been spoken of at some 
length. Judge Thornton came home and sat down to the table in a 
manner plainly indicating that his mind was deeply absorbed in some 
occurrence of the day, appearing to scarcely notice the playful remarks 
indulged in by his two daughters, until finally the studied appearance of 
his face and manner attracted their attention, and quite a number of 
girlish sallies were directed toward him with such force that he was at 
last compelled to make a straight forward confession of the subject 
matter so seriously engaging his thoughts. He told them the whole 
story of the walnut logs, not forgetting to depict in strong terms the 
petty meanness of which the Hobarts had been convicted. But when 
he came to speak of young Fenton and his connection with the trial, 
the old judge’s face lit up with a peculiar gleam of satisfaction. 

“I have seldom in my life been so strangely attracted toward any- 
one as by this young man. He seemed to possess a manly, dignified 
bearing, yet full of ingenuousness, charming frankness and sociability 
that one rarely meets. Within five minutes acquaintance I felt that I had 
known him for years, and his every word, and even his manner and ges- 
ture bore the impress of truth, strength of character, and decision of 
mind that one so seldom finds is the blending of youth and manhood.” 

“But, papa,” said the critical Irene, “do you not think it rather 
questionable taste for him to expose his cousins in the manner he 
did”? 

“Well, it is true, the world in common would look at it that way; 


22 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


but I do not think so. He evidently knew nothing of the character of 
the Hobarts until a few days ago, and all cousinly pride was swept 
away by revulsion of feeling with which he viewed their unneighborly 
act. He could not bear for a single moment the idea that any honest 
person should look upon him with the same displeasure with which they 
were compelled to regard the Hobarts. No, indeed; I think that a man 
who will renounce all ties of kindred rather than hide their guilt is a 
man in truth to be proud of, and all the more so when he is far away 
from home and in a strange country.” 

“Well, papa,” said affectionate little Elsie, “if he is such a rank 
stranger, why didn’t you bring him home with you and let us get ac- 
quainted with him? Perhaps he wouldn’t have felt so lonesome then.” 

“Ah, puss,” said the judge smilingly, “you are always on the look- 
out for more company. But in truth, I should probably have succeeded 
in capturing the genus homo for my daughter’s edification, only Mr. 
White had invited him to go to Nashville on his raft, and they have just 
jeft the village. He will be back this way on the boat, however, in a 
few days, and if he should conclude to stop in Melton for a day or so, 
he has my invitation to make u a visit. So look sharp, my little one, 
and you may get a peep at him yet.” 

“I do not think I shall fancy him much,” said Irene poutingly. 
“Any way I am glad that I am not related to him, for then I should be 
in constant fear lest he should turn traitor on the first opportunity and 
deliver me over, bound hand and foot, to my enemies.” 

“Fie upon you, Irene, to form such an uncharitable conception of 
the young man’s general character because he refused to connive with his 
thieving cousins. Do you suppose for an inst ant that I should have felt 
like inviting him to my fireside if he had not acted just as he did? There 
is really but one fear that arises in my mind in connection with young 
Fenton, and that is with regard to his political views. I am aware that 
he is still quite young, and probably has not given much consideration to 
matters of a political nature, but the fact he was raised in Virginia, one 
of the oldest of slave States, makes it not improbable that, like most 
young people of the South, he has been fully imbued with the idea that 
Northern people and sympathizers are objects of hate and mistrust,and that 
one of his main objects in life is to keep education away from the old 
slaves in order that the Southern whites may continue to rule them as in 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


33 


the past. If all this should prove true of 'him, as it is of many of our 
young men in the South, then certainly his companionship will not be so 
enjoyable to us as it otherwise would.” 

So saying Judge Thornton arose from the table and walked away to 
his library, where he was soon forgetting all about the minor troubles 
and cares of the day in the soothing contemplation of the effects of a 
good Havana. 

Irene Thornton had been led into making the remarks concerning 
Fenton not by any special dislike that she had formed by what she heard 
of him, for it was quite common with her to criticise any person coming 
within the range of her thoughts as a means of continuing a conversation 
and leading others on to describe such person at greater length, or else 
to provoke mirth at their expense without any intention to do them se- 
rious injury or prejudice others against them. Whatever her motive on 
those occasions might chance to be, members of her own family never 
understood her to mean anything serious by her remarks or criticisms, 
and which of course soon passed away from their thoughts altogether, 
but it sometimes happened that others outside of her family were pres- 
ent, when she would thoughtlessly assume her critical mood, and not 
properly interpreting her words and manner of speech, would cause them 
to be construed into a far deeper and more important meaning than she 
had entertained the least idea of, and on more than one occasion she had 
cause to regret that she had spoken at all, or would have recalled both 
words and tone of utterance if it had been in her power to do so. It so 
far happened, however, that nothing really serious had resulted from the 
rather careless habit, or she would have doubtless corrected the habit 
long before. 

One other individual in the village of Melton fell into the same 
critical mood concerning the conduct of Fenton as the words of Miss 
Thornton would imply that she had done, although from an entirely dif- 
ferent motive. 

The weather had turned off rather raw and chilly on the evening of 
the day on which the trial occurred. The wund was whistling cheerily 
around the corners of a little frame office, situated near the main street 
of the village, and almost under the shadow of the great court building 
just across the street. At a few of the small openings around the, window 
and under the door, through the large keyhole, nd even down the great 


24 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


brick chimney, the wind dashed with a certain sort of fury, as if it were 
moaning over some insult that had been uttered in the court-room not 
far away, and was dancing wildly about among the barrister offices in 
search of the victim upon whom it intended to vent itself. Perhaps the 
openings through which a bright light was visible were not sufficiently 
large to give the avenging wind much satisfaction through any aid of 
theirs, but certain it was that its howling was plainly heard by the only 
oecupant of the little office, who shivered visibly two or three times, and 
finally arose from the small table, or rather candle-stand, at which he 
had been engaged in writing, and replenished the low fire with a shovel 
or two of coals. This done he sat down before the fireplace, stretch- 
ed out his long, slender legs, one on either side of the grate, slowly, 
pulled out an old-fashioned English repeater, which he looked at as 
though he were about to be again reminded of a certain hour when he 
would switch his mind off into an entir^y new direction from which it 
had been jogging along for the last hour, , 

Whatever the aforesaid individual may have thought concerning the 
old watch itself, he was rather startled to find that its dial indicated the 
hour of seven, and that it was certainly past the regular time for taking 
the timepiece out of his pocket. Hastily shutting the lid with a loud 
click, he shoved it into its place rather nervously, rose quickly to his feet 
and began preparations for trying the temper of his enemy, the wind, 
outside the office. He brushed his hair to the , highest degree of sleek- 
ness, donned his best coat and hat, took a large, green umbrella under 
his arm, extinguished the light, and soon found himself in the street, 
moving along at quite a rapid pace even for his long legs. 

As he moves along, Mr. Felix Joran, the same young lawyer who 
appeared for the defense of the Hobarts, falls into a long train of thought, 
in which the pleasant features of Mr. Robert Fenton ever and anon per- 
sist in bobbing to the surface, despite all the efforts of the young barris- 
ter to keep them down. It may be surmised that Mr. Joran did not 
take kindly to the appearance on the seene during the trial of youiig 
Fenton. At first he naturally supposed that he belonged to Mr. White’s 
crew, and thought nothing strange of his introduction as a witness, but 
when it was explained to him that he was a cousin of the Hobarts, and 
that he had turned traitor to the cause in which he had rather hurriedly 
enlisted, and was probably the sole cause of his losing the case, he grit- 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


25 


ted his teeth with mortification, and resolved that he would retain young 
Fenton in his wonderfully retentive memory, and if an opportunity was 
ever offered would pay him back in his own coin, both principal and in- 
terest. This opportunity came to him in a far different way and much 
sooner than he had even hoped for. 

It might be best to give the reader a few facts concerning the per- 
sonal appearance and history of Felix Joran, Esq., not that it would be 
generally considered so very interesting in itself, but that it may serve 
to show his general character as an individual and a lawyer. He was 
the son of Dr. Paul Joran, who had been one of the first settlers of Pike 
county and a physician of considerable reputation throughout Pike and 
counties adjoining. Dr. Joran had attained considerable property, con- 
sisting mostly of land, situated several miles from Meltoa at a 
small cross roads village, where he lived and reared a family of five 
children, three boys and two girls. When he died the property was 
equally divided, and Felix, having obtained a meager common school 
education, decided upon studying law as his profession. 

Of course no one could know the real object of Felix in taking up 
the profession of law, unless it was himself, but judging by his well- 
known greed in all matters where money was concerned, it might well 
have been claimed that his object was to thoroughly understand the ac- 
quiring and holding of property in a legal way without having to em- 
ploy other legal talent — in other words simply, to be his own lawyer. 
He was in the full sense of the term what the world calls a skinflint. 
His whole study was to grasp the “almighty dollar,” and when once 
he had it in his grasp, he held on with all the force of which the 
human will is capable. He was sordid and selfish to the very last degree 
and everything that his mind dwelt upon was for the purpose of turning 
it into gold, or advancing him to a plane where its acquirement should 
become easier. 

Notwithstanding his studies in the direction of money-getting he 
seemed to advance very slowly toward his real object, for having had a 
rather snug property for a young man to start with in life, yet he had 
been forced to spend both time and money in the acquirement of a legal 
education, though a rather poor one after all, and this loss of time chafed 
him to think of it as did every other delay that turned up in his way 
rather unexpectedly or otherwise. 


26 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


Consequently as he strode along the windy street he was in no very 
pleasant frame of mind, for his failure to win his lawsuit was yet an- 
other exasperating delay in his pursuit of wealth, and the face of young 
Fenton continually reminded him that he had been a stumbling-block 
in his path. He again and again thought of the promise he had made 
himself to get even with that young man if an opportunity should ever 
offer, until, thus thinking and brooding overjhis misfortune, he had come 
within view of the lights gleaming from the window of Judge Thorn- 
ton’s residence. Ah, was there no balm in Gilead? No relief from the 
misfortunes which troubled him during the day, and which continued to 
haunt him still? He must have_ thought so, for his long steps became 
more rapid, his pulse beat quicker, and his breathing was short and 
hurried. 

Mr. Joran was going to while away a few of the evening hours in 
the company of the proud and stately Miss Thornton. Until a few 
months previously Mr. Joran had never entertained any thoughts of 
marriage, and his was not a nature to fritter away precious moments in 
idle court at the shrine of female loveliness without some such intention. 
He was too poor to marry, as he thought, and besides it would only 
prove another barrier to his obtaining the immense fortune that he in- 
tended to accumulate. No, no, marriage was out of the question for 
him. It might answer well enough for poor young dogs, who had no 
such ambition as his, but he had determinedly put all such foolish ideas 
away from him, and again confined himself strictly to satiating his ap- 
petite for gold. 

But somehow of late a decided change had come over Mr. Joran’s 
future plans in respect of beginning to believe that he should by all 
means get married. Irene Thornton had returned to Melton, with her 
school days all behind her, beautiful, proud, accomplished, and what was 
still more to the purpose in the eyes of Lawyer Joran, with the ab- 
solute certainty of a good dowry to aid her in any matrimonial ad- 
venture in which she chose to engage. Here was an opportunity for him 
to more than double his possessions at one single stroke, and with that 
so easily done he thought he could endure the evpense of married life 
for a brief season, after which he would reduce their expenditure to 
actual necessities, 


1 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


27 


And so it happened that Lawyer Joran had become a regular visitor 
at the mansion of Judge Thornton, which visits were soon interpreted to 
belong exclusively to Miss Thornton, and although it had not been so 
easy a matter for the young barrister to work himself up to the propos- 
ing point as he had first imagined to himself, yet scarcely a doubt was 
allowed to be harbored in his sordid mind that the final outcome would 
be wholly favorable to his wishes. 


28 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 



CHAPTER III. 

Upon arriving at the residence of Judge Thornton, Mr. Lawyer Joran 
was ushered in with the usual urbanity for which the family had always 
been noted, and seated himself near the great old-fashioned fire-place in 
the parlor, with his long legs drawn under his chair in order to make 
them look as short as possible, rubbing his hands rather nervously, as he 
was nearly always doing when he didn’t know exactly what to do with 
them, and still shivering from his recent contact wit hhis enemy, the wind, 
as he listened to its howling on the outside, and which seemed to be 
angrier than ever because he had managed to escape its clutches. 

In a short while Miss Thornton entered the room, and, though still 
conducting herself in the stately and somewhat reserved manner than 
seemed never to leave her, greeted him with something more that 
her usual warmth, and ere long proved herself to be in a 
rather more entertaining and talkative mood than she had ever been in 
before. After exchanging a few ideas upon various topics, mostly rela- 
tive to village matters in general, the young lady happened to mention 
either by chance or purposely, it were difficult to discover which, — the 
subject of the trial which had caused such a commotion in the usually 
quiet village. 

, When this subject was touched upon, Mr. Joran gave a very percepti- 
ble start, as if it were a distasteful one to him, which was not unobserved 
by the young lady, and who no doubt was quick enough at guessing to 
form some idea to herself of its real meaning. The truth was that the 
lawyer had fortified himself with the hope that the news of the trial 
and its to him very discomfiting result had failed to reach the ears of 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


29 


Miss Thornton, for he was aware that he himself had cut an exceed- 
ingly small figure in the lawsuit, and it was contrary to his desire to ap- 
pear in such a small attitude in the eyes of his lady love just at that 
particular juncture. 

But possibly with a mischevious desire to add still more to his con- 
sternation than ever, Miss Thornton calmly informed the young barris- 
ter that her father had acquainted them with all the facts concerning the 
lawsuit at the tea-table, not forgetting to add the expressions her father 
had used in regard to his opinion of young Fenton, and also the remarks 
she herself had made in that connection. All this, of course, was but 
adding wormwood to the gall the young lawyer had previously felt when 
he remembered Fenton, and it now seemed to him that fate was trying 
to thrust the scapegrace into his pathway in still another direction, for who 
could tell but Judge Thornton’s favoring Fenton might ultimately lead 
him to aspire to the hand of his daughter Irene, and thus sweep away 
all hopes he had entertained in that direction. 

While listening to Irene seemingly, but in reality pondering over 
this new phase of the subject, and wondering how he could possibly cir- 
cumvent the fate which had so suddenly pitted itself against his own 
wily schemes, a bright gleam of hope suddenly shot athwart his bewilder- 
ed brain. 

“I am not at all surprised at your asking the question you did of 
your father in regard to Mr. Fenton,” said the lawyer to Miss Thorn- 
ton, with a perceptible sneer upon his countenance, “for it was certainly 
very plain to any one looking at the whole affair impartially that he had 
an ulterior purpose in view in turning against his relatives, a fact that 
appears to be plainer than ever since he has joined Mr. White’s party 
on the trip down the river. He came to this State, very probably, with 
the intention of entering business of some sort, and naturally on the look- 
out to form the most distinguished acquaintajices that came in his way. 
He found his cousins in poor circumstances, and looked down upon 
somewhat by his more wealthy and influential neighbor, and who were 
not at all likely to advance his own personal interests to a very great 
extent. Accordingly, he was naturally watching out for just such an 
opportunity as presented itself to him to-day, and he was not slow in 
taking advantage of it. I repeat, therefore. Miss Thornton, that l am 
not surprised at your taking a dislike to him, for if my view of his motives 
should prove to be correct, no honorable person would particularly care 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


30 

to cultivate his acquaintance. Do you not still regard him in the same 
light?” 

Irene had not meant the sarcastic words she uttered in the presence 
of her father, for she had really been pleased to think the young man 
was going to make them a visit; but the words of Mr. Joran, presenting 
the young man to her girlish imagination in an entirely different light 
from that which her father had done, prevented her from attributing- 
any sinister motive on the part of the lawyer, and caused her, ere she 
was aware of it, to fall into the same train of reasoning. She gradually 
became convinced in her own mind that her father had not adopted the 
same views in regard to the actions of the young man that the world 
generally would have done, and she reasoned that her father would ere 
long become aware of the mistake he had made, and see matters in an 
altogether different light. Irene had been, for two or three years, mix- 
ing to a greater or less degree in the company of strangers and naturally 
absorbed many of the views of worldly-minded people, the generality of 
whom are more willing to pay homage to the wealth that has already 
been acquired than to the fortunes anticipated by hopeful young men 
just starting out in the bjttle for wealth and fame. Thus it was that 
she the more readily acquiesced in the views of the young lawyer, who, 
to her mind, represented the world in general, than she would have done 
had she remembered that her father had long ago encountered the trials 
of a young man, worked his way to fame and fortune amid the sneers of 
purse-proud aristocracy, and was accordingly the best judge of human 
nature, whether looking upon the face of a poor, portionless young man 
or of one with the best start in life which aristocratic family ties and 
plenty of necessary funds would naturally give him. 

“Yes,” answered Irene, though quite conscious of the false meaning 
which she was now imparting to her former words, “I can see no reason 
to cause me to change my views. I cannot help feeling that papa has 
formed a mistaken idea of the young man’s character, which he may 
some day have sincere cause to regret. However, there is no need to 
argue the case with him, for it will take something more than I can do 
or say to change an opinion that he has once formed.” 

The young lawyer breathed considerably freer after this confession 
of Irene’s, although he did not exactly feel that he was out of all danger. 
He knew that, whatever Irene might think about the matter at present, 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


31 


if young Fenton should win his way into the effections of the family, and 
should prove to be a young man worthy of the patronage of Judge 
Thornton, influences would gradually be brought to bear upon her that 
would change her opinions and cause her eventually to regard the young 
man with favor also. It was plain to Lawyer Joran that more energetic 
measures must be taken than a mere non-concurrence in the views of her 
father, so that to gain a foothold upon the family circle should be to 
young Fenton an utter impossibility. But since he could not work upon 
the judge’s feelings himself, what decisive measures could he take? Per- 
haps the invention ot a little falsehood just at this point would serve his 
purpose. He was an adept in that sort of business. He would try its 
effect upon Irene. 

“Perhaps I ought not to take advantage of the hospitality you and 
your family extend to me here. Miss Thornton,” he said apologet icily, 
“but with the assurance that it may be of service to you, and feeling 
that I would willingly render you any service in my power, I cannot refrain 
from repeating a remark made by a resident of the village in my hearing 
this evening. I was present in a small crowd who were discussing the 
merits of the singular trial, pro and con, when some one mentioned your 
father’s interest in the young man, and the gentleman I have referred to 
said: ‘The judge, of course, can think of the young man as he pleases, 
but a portion of his history with which I am somewhat acquainted will 
not do for public inspection, and it would be much better to let him en- 
tirely alone.’ Of course the speaker was requested to give young 
Fenton’s history, but refused to say anything more upon the subject.” 

Now as the reader knows, every word and thought of these remarks 
were base fabrications, invented by the lawyer to poison the mind of the 
young lady, and impress her with belief that she ought to repeat it in the 
ear of her father. So in its deliverance he had furtively watched the ex- 
pression of Miss Thornton’s face that he might note its effect upon her. 
The result was all that he desired, for her startled look betrayed the fact 
as she thought, that her father stood in danger of being duped by a clever 
young scoundrel, and her deep effection for him would not brook unnec- 
essary delay in notifying her father of the danger in which he stood. 

She cordially thanked Mr. Joran for his confidence and friendly 
anxiety, and assured him that she would not fail to warn her father in 
the morning to beware of the dangerous young man. After some furth- 


32 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


er conversation, the lawyer, feeling that the second case he was called 
upon to plead that day was perfectly safe, arose and took his departure. 

As he breasted his way back to his office where he slept, his enemy 
howled around his spare form and whistled between his bony knees; it 
rushed by his nose and clipped at his ears with a sharp zip that some- 
times caused him to put up his hand to ascertain if those organs were 
still intact. He had fought against more serious obstacles than the wind, 
however, many times, and his thoughts were busy with the snug fortune 
that Judge Thornton would soon be compelled to pass over to him, and 
his eyes fairly gloated as he told himself that then he would not be com- 
pelled to conjure up pretty compliments and long trains of argument to 
win his suit. The case would be won, the bride thrown in as a matter 
of course, and no power on earth could tear the rich prize from his grasp. 
Not a doubt of his own qualifications harrassed his smiling features. 
He had a good start in life. He had aristocratic friends to provide him 
with sufficient standing in society. He had the ability to grasp and hold 
on with the firmest of grips. It was true, he did not possess a good fig- 
ure. His awkwardness was the subject of many caustic remarks by the 
village maidens. He did not wear a countenance that gave assurance 
of a genial spirit or a free heart, but was rather of a cruel, sinister or 
selfish expression. But how could all this weigh against him, he thought 
to himself, with the parents of marriageable young ladies? Surely he 
was a “catch” to be proud of, and in his opinion all that he had to do 
was to speak his mind in order to obtain the bride of his choice. 

On the following morning, when Judge Thornton greeted his daugh- 
ters in his usual hearty style, he could not refrain from noticing an evi- 
dent anxiety upon the part of Irene to acquaint him with the burden of 
her thoughts, and finally asked her what the trouble was. She told him 
that she feared he had made a grave mistake in inviting young Fenton to 
make them a visit, and warned him against having anything further to 
do with him. 

“Why, Irene,” said the judge, “I am surprised at you. What can 
you mean by such talk?” 

“I mean simply that he is not the kind of a gentleman that you take 
him to be, and that he is only trying to work into your good graces for 
the purpose of swindling you or else taking advantage of you in some 
other way.” 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


33 


“Where and from whom did you get such information as that?” 
asked the judge rather'impatiently. 

Irene, seeing that her father was determined to pursue his questions 
until the whole truth came out, thought it best to state all she knew and 
from whom, which she did fully and freely, adding that she hoped her 
father would not cause them to be the talk of the village by showing hos- 
pitality to this utter stranger, whom she was thoroughly convinced was 
nothing more nor less than an adventurer of the worst description. 

“Well,” said her father, rising from the breakfast table, “I cannot 
believe that I am mistaken in the character of Mr. Fenton, nor that he 
has ever entertained any wicked designs toward myself and family, but 
to allay all fears of my confidence being misplaced upon your part, I 
shall take the trouble to investigate the matter referred to by Mr. Joran, 
and if I should ascertain that it amounts to anything serious I can man- 
age very easily to withdraw my invitation when the young man again 
makes his appearance.” 

This, of course, was all Irene could reasonably desire, and so mat- 
ters rested apparently for several days, the judge meanwhile busying him- 
self with his books and papers, occasionally walking into the village to 
receive his mail, and to all appearances, so far as his family could tell, 
the trial and its incidents together with young Fenton had completely 
passed out of his thoughts. 

Judge Thornton, in the course of a busy life, has been a great stu- 
dent of human nature. At school in his boyhood days, at college in his 
youth, as a young member of the bar, as a judge, and as a member of a 
great law-making body, he had watched and. studied carefully many of 
the faces passing in review before him. In many of them, in pursuance 
of this study, he took an especial interest and watched them in after years, 
in order to prove whether his surmises concerning them should be cor- 
rect. Once in a while he would make trifling errors in his judgement 
with regard to their future, but these were rare exceptions, and quite 
often when sitting upon the bench did he correctly sum up the character 
of a prisoner at the bar by the general appearance of his countenance 
long before the testimony was sufficient for the jury to make a decision. 
This faculty, as a great writer has observed, is a very rare one — so much 
so indeed, that whereas it often enables the possessor of such a faculty 
to arrive at a conclusion almost instantaneously where the character of 


34 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


a stranger is being weighed in the balance, others must study it out 
under a regular course of lessons, which sometimes requires not only 
days and weeks, but months and years for its completion. 

And this instantaneous recognition of a pure, upright character had 
enabled Judge Thornton to grasp young Fenton cordially by the hand 
and bid him welcome to the hospitality of his fireside. The conduct of 
his daughter Irene had not only surprised but actually pained him — not 
that he had any fears whatever as to the result of Fenton’s visit to his 
home but that his own daughter chose rather to listen to the remarks of 
others than to trust his judgement as to what was best for his family 
and who it would be proper to associate with. 

He believed from the first that Felix Joran’s story was a fabrication, 
though he could not at that time understand why he should endeavor to 
throw a blight upon the character of young Fenton. Nevertheless he 
made dilligent inquiries for the person who it had been claimed knew 
something of Fenton’s previous history, but, as the reader is aware, no 
such person was to be found or even heard of in the village. On the 
contrary, the belief seemed to be prevalent among the villagers that the 
young man was all that he appeared to be, and were glad they had the 
pleasure of meeting him. 


The days of February had passed away and March had been ush- 
ered in, some two weeks later than the occurrence recorded in the last 
chapter. Mr. White’s raft, with its company on board, had reached 
Nashville in safety, where the logs were disposed of to good advantage, 
a handsome sum realized, and after spending a day or two in the city he 
and his son and others of the crew, with the exception of young Fenton, 
returned by steamboat to their home in the mountains, not without press- 
ing the latter however, to stop with them on his way back to his Vir- 
ginia home. This Fenton promised to do if possible, and thus the new 
friends seperated, having had no cause to regret their brief association 
together. 

Of the details of Fenton’s visit to Nashville it is not necessary to 
speak at the present time, suffice it to say that during his brief stay 
there of two weeks he had the pleasure of meeting quite a number of 
the Virginia friends of his family, and by means of whom he made quite 
a number of new acquaintances, and the time of his departure arrived 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


35 


so quickly that he was scarcely aware of it. He told some of them con- 
fidentially, who desired to know when they might expect another visit 
from him, that if his anticipations for the future were fully realized he 
might return at an early day with the intention of making Nashville his 
permanent place of residence. His friends professed the greatest pleasure 
at hearing this, and wished -him the utmost success in making arrange- 
ments to that end. 

But visits, like all other earthly pleasures, must come to an end, 
and at last Fenton found himself aboard a steamboat, which was soon 
puffing its way up the river. Tired out and exhausted with a continual 
round of business, pleasure and excitement in which he had just 
been engaged, he retired early to his stateroom, and was soon lost in a 
deep and peaceful slumber which lasted until broad daylight. He arose 
and prepared himself for breakfast, after which he cultivated the 
acquaintance of several fellow travellers, and whiled away the morning 
hours in a general conversation, until some one was heard to ask the 
captain what point would be the next landing place. 

“Melton,” answered the captain as he passed on his way over the 
boat. 

Fenton looked up with some surprise. He remembered that Mel- 
ton was the name of the village where the trial had occurred, but he had 
in reality very little time to think of the affair since arriving at Nash- 
ville, and he was somewhat astonished to think that he was fast ap- 
proaching the place again. He remembered, too, that his new acquain- 
tances there had appeared quite anxious to have him stop over with them 
a few days on his trip up the river, and that he had half way promised 
them to do so. But now he must really decide what was best. Should he 
leave the boat and wait for another, or continue his journey until he 
reached Mr. White’s? While he was still pondering over this question 
the landing place at Melton appeared in sight, and about the same time 
there came in view quite a number of the villagers to greet the ar- 
rival of the steamboat. As the boat drew up to the shore some of the 
citizens recognized young Fenton, and at once called to him to come 
ashore. After some little hesitation, in which he seemed to still be tug- 
ging away at the question he had propounded to himself, he left the boat 
and was soon shaking hands with his newly found friends. 

Declining the cordial invitations of several of the villagers to pass 


36 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


the night at their houses, he stopped at the village hotel and bespoke a 
room for a couple of days, as he thought it would be about the length of his 
visit at Melton. While talking earnestly with one of his new friends 
about the outcome of the recent trial, they stepped into the door of one 
of the small stores, when whom should they encounter, seated in a chair 
and reading a newspaper, but Judge Thornton, who, glancing over his 
spectacles, immediately recognized young Fenton. The judge at 
once arose to his fe6t nnd grasped the young man by the hand. A long 
conversation followed, in which the judge evinced an evident interest in 
Fenton’s future welfare, which in return seemed to be highly appreciated. 
In fact, Fenton began to feel himself attracted toward the old gen- 
tleman to a rather an unusual degree and was led into giving a complete 
history of his Virginia life together with h\s prospects for the future. 

Felix Joran, Esq., was again seated at the little table in his office, 
where he has been quite busily engaged in writing for some time. After a 
while he laid down his pen, and opening his mouth with a yawn that 
stretched it to the fullest extent, he reached down into his waistcoat pocket 
after the oldfashioned repeater, by means of which he ascertained that 
the hour was four p. m. and raising his eyes to the window he became 
aware that the short winter afternoon was rapidly drawing to a close. But 
what was there in that simple consequence of the sun’s usual disappear- 
ance behind its western horizon that Lawyer Joran should stare so long, 
so intently, and even so wildly through the window? Was it the com- 
ing darkness that was fast dropping upon Melton, to which he had been 
accustomed now for several months, or was it something that his orbs of 
vison were unaccustomed to behold? It must have been, the latter, for 
it seemed not only to effect his vision, but also to effect his hands and 
fingers and even his finger-nails, for his hands began to work nervously,' 
then his fingers to clutch at the table and the chair from wliich he had 
risen, and lastly his nails were buried in tbe flesh of his hands. No, nor 
was this all, for his lips began to move, first for the purpose of forming 
an astonished ejaculation, which soon gave way to expressions of rage 
and imprecations which were undoubtedly meant to fall upon the head 
of some one who had caused his eyes to stare so intently and with such 
an astonished expression. 

Walking along the street, just opposite Mr. Joran’s little office, 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


37 


and engaged in earnest conversation, were Judge Thornton and Lawyer 
Joran’s arch enemy — Mr. -Robert Fenton. Here was the outcome, 
parading in perfect triumph before Mr. Joran’s eyes, of skillfully con- 
trived falsehood. Here was the terminus of his fancied .security. As he 
looked at the young man’s gallant figure measuring steps with the grave 
old judge, Mr. Joran feltas though his charming bride, with her still 
more charming dowry, was swiftly receding in the distance, and the 
great fortune that was visible a few moments before between every line 
that he wrote seemed to be slipping between his fingers, despite the des- 
perate clutches that he made to retain it. No wonder that his brain 
reeled; and deep oaths of vengence rolled from his lips. He had lain his 
plans with too much self-confidence, and felt too certain of their ulti- 
mate results, to bear his second disappointment through the same agency, 
however unwittingly the agent may have performed his part, with heroic 
fortitude. Indeed, there were very few elements of a hero to be found 
in the composition of Felix Joran, Esq. 

That personage had rightfully guessed the destination of the judge 
and his young companion, for after a leisurely walk of fifteen or twenty 
minutes they reached the Thornton residence, where the young 
stranger was at once introduced to Mrs. Thornton and her daughther 
Elsie, who were evidently much pleased with his appearance and ex- 
tended to him a hearty welcome to their home. A pleasant conversa- 
tion was kept up between them until tea was announced, when Irene, — 
whose absence, strange to say, up to this time, had not been noticed by 
the rest of the family — sent to ask that she might be excused by her 
mother, pleading a headache as the cause for remaining in her room, 
which of course was readily granted without remark at the time. 

At the table young Fenton delighted the family with some exper- 
iences of his boyhood days in Virginia, and told also of the old friends 
he had run across while in Nashville and the pleasant time he had passed 
in their company, so that in a very brief time he seemed no longer a 
stranger to them and more than verified the description given by the 
judge himself to his family. 

When they had again repaired to the family sitting-room, the judge 
began to ply the young man with questions relative to the political af- 
fairs of Virginia. Now in reality Judge Thornton needed very little 
posting concerning the political condition of any State in the Union, 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


3S 

much less with regard to a southern State like Virginia, which, it should 
be remembered, was also his native state; but he desired to ascertain the 
political views of Fenton himself, and felt certain that he would 
soon draw him into an expression of the same. Fenton replied frankly 
to the judge’s queries by admitting that political affairs in Virginia were 
about the same as in the other southern Statesj almost as bad as they 
could possibly be. 

He had previously explained to Judge Thornton that his only near 
relative then living was his grandfather on his mother’s side, who had 
acted as his guardian until he had attained his majority; that he had 
engaged in the study of law for two or three years at his grandfather’s 
home, situated in a suburb of the town of Fredericksburg, and had 
even rented an office and hung out his shingle a few weeks before leaving 
there on his present visit, but as yet had never pleaded a case in court. 

He then went on to explain to the judge that business matters gen- 
erally in his own State were in a greatly depressed and uncertain condi- 
tion in consequence of useless political wrangles, and he was much afraid 
that it would take many years to recover the ground which had been lost; 
that many other States, even in the South at that time, were rapidly 
outstripping the old Dominion State, and as he was a young man with 
everything to gain and nothing particular to lose, except his boyhood 
scenes, he had been thinking quite seriously of migrating to some other 
State and endeavoring to seek his fortune under more favorable business 
conditions. For that reason, in most part, he had been visiting the 
enterprising city of Nashville, and reported that he was more than 
pleased with the prospects which it presented to a young man condi- 
tioned like himself, and concluded by saying that he had about deter- 
mined in his mind to make that place his future home. 

Judge Thornton was highly pleased with the idea that young Fen- 
ton had it in view to leave Virginia, but there was an idea of his own 
which he had been revolving in his mind concerning the future course of 
the young man, which did not include the prospect of his settling in 
Nashville, neither did it involve a single grain of selfishness on the part 
of the judge himself, and yet for some reason he hesitated about naming 
the matter to him at the present time. He was still anxious to know 
whether Fenton possessed any political convictions at all, and if so, of 
what nature. So at last he decided that the best and surest way to as- 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


39 


certain the truth was to put the question to him direct. 

“Mr. Fenton,” asked the judge, “am I to infer from the fact that 
your people and yourself are Virginians, that as was generally the case, 
your father was a slaveholder?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Fenton, “he was a slaveholder, and fought in 
the Confederate service, as did also my brother. Captain Charles Fen- 
ton, until both were killed in the battle of Gettysburg.” 

‘T regret to hear that,” said Judge Thornton in a sympathetic lone. 
“And I suppose, as a matter of course, that your political inclinations 
have always tended in the same direction?” 

“I have always been a staunch and firm believer in the general prin- 
ciples of the Democratic party,” answered Fenton, “but I have ever re- 
garded the institution of slavery as morally and physically wrong, and 
the greatest curse with which the nation has ever had to contend. I 
rejoice that it has been abolished forever from American soil, 
and now believe that the day is not far distant when both white and 
black will enjoy greater political freedom and stable business prosperity 
than any nation has ever witnessed.” 

The evident warmth of feeling with which young Fenton gave ut- 
terance to the foregoing rendered his earnestness quite apparent to the 
old judge, who arose and extended his hand to the young man, saying 
that he sincerely congratulated him upon the liberal views which he 
held, and was glad to find that, though belonging to different political 
parties in name, yet in opinions they were certainly not very far apart. 

After another hour had passed pleasantly by, in which Fenton 
much improved his acquaintance with Elsie and her mother, and being 
given to understand by the old judge that he would like to have another 
talk with him on the morrow, when he would meet him in the village, 
he bade them -good-night and returned to his lodgings at the village 
hotel. 

At an early hour on the following morning, after enjoyinga good 
breakfast at the hotel, and witnessing the usual departure of the stage- 
coach on its long, winding journey among the hills and valleys, Fenton 
took a long stroll out through the principal street of the village and 
climbed one of the tall hills which hemmed it on every side. Here he 
was afforded a view of the surrounding country that well rewarded him 
for his trouble. Before him lay the little village, with its large broad 


40 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


pike leading out over the hill, and the beautiful river circling around the 
edge of the short valley, between the latter and the huge row of tall 
bluffs, two hundred feel in height. The cold, fresh water of the moun- 
tain stream sparkled in the sunlight as it hurried on its way down the 
busy world beyond, and altogether presented a scene calculated to awak- 
en bright trains of imagination in the somewhat poetic temperament of 
the beholder. He really began to feel for the first time how pleasant 
it would be to dwell in the little quiet village at his feet, and ever and 
anon, after a decisive conflict with the active world, be enabled to re- 
treat for rest and recreation into such a quiet home, to exchange greetings 
with the peaceable, cordial villagers and to meet the old judge, sur- 
rounded by his most entertaining family. Not that any serious thoughts 
of making a home there were entertained by him, for he could not afford 
at that time of life, and with the prospect of a hard, long and bitter 
struggle before him, to allow himself to think seriously of enjoying such 
a pleasure as a home like that might afford him, until he had once 
attained a sufficient competency to treat life as he pleased, and not as 
he was compelled to do. After he had feasted his eyes upon the beauti- 
ful earthly vision spread out before him until he began to weary of the 
intense solitude which surrounded him, he descended the hill again, and 
was soon noting the appearance of the houses on either side of the street 
as he passed along. 

Proceeding leisurely along, he heard a familiar step behind him, and 
glancing around, saw that it was Judge Thornton, who at once told 
him that he wanted to speak to him concerning a matter that he had 
referred to the night before, which was his contemplated settlement in 
the city of Nashville, 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


4f 


CHAPTER IV. 

It was near the middle of March when Robert Fenton stepped off 
the boat at Mr. Jolin White’s landing, and walked rapidly up the hill 
toward the house. Before reaching there, however, he stopped short at 
sight of a little girl almost covered with a very large sunbonnet, going 
toward the house along a pathway which ran by the side of the road, 
and bearing a bucket of water that seemed to weigh more than herself. 
After going a few steps she sat the bucket down on the ground to rest 
her aching arm, and turned around in order to catch a view of the 
steamboat. As she did so, she was astonished to find a young gentle- 
man standing still, gazing at her, whom her big sunbonnet had pre- 
vented her from seeing before. 

“I declare,” said Fenton, “you seem to be a very small creature to 
carry such a heavy burden. Are you not worn out?” 

“Yes,” replied the little girl, “I am rather tired; but Aunt Susan 
says that I am getting old enough to carry water from the spring and do 
something to pay her for the trouble she has had with me.” 

“What is your name, little miss, and who is your Aunt Susan?” 
asked young Fenton with a smile of encouragement that touched the 
heart of the little girl as it had not been for years. 

“My name is Flora Ilexam,” she answered, “though Walter says 
that Bother would have suited me better.” 

“Well, I hardly think that Walter and I could agree upon that 
point, for certainly Flora is the right name for you. But you haven’t 
told me wlio are your Aunt Susan and Walter.” 

“Mrs. White is my aunt, and Walter is her son. We all live at the 
house you see up yonder,” said Flora. 


43 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


“Indeed,” said Fenton. “Then let me carry your bucket for you, 
as I am going there also. I expect that you have heard your uncle 
mention my name, have you not? I am Robert Fenton.” 

“Why, certainly I have,” said the little girl delightedly, for she 
anticipated from her short acquaintance with him, that it would be quite 
pleasant to have him for a visitor at their house, if only for a .short time» 
which would be a great relief to the usual monotony of her existence, 
“And Uncle John was wondering only to-day at dinner why you did not 
come on the last boat.” 

She continued to chat gaily with Fenton on their way up to the 
house, and the first momentary suspicion he had entertained on hearing 
the language used toward her by her aunt was allowed to pass away for 
the time, thinking probably that he had attached to much importance to 
it, and that the child could certainly not be mistreated in the household 
of a man like he had believed Mr. White to be. 

At the yard gate he was recognized by Mr. White, who came for- 
ward to meet him and conduct him into the house, where he was intro- 
duced to Mrs. White. The latter lady proved to be a most excellent 
hostess, and reminded him that he had placed them all under many ob- 
ligations for the part he had taken in the trial at Melton. « 

He begged that she would think nothing more of the affair, so far 
as it concerned himself, as he had only done that which any gentleman 
should have done under the circumstances. He could not rafrain from 
telling them, however, that as they were interested in the causes which 
had brought about a certain result, his prospects for a future career had 
been very much improved by his recent visit to Melton, while on his way 
back from the city of Nashville, on account of an offer which had been 
made him by Judge Thornton. He now had the pleasure of imform- 
ing his new friends that in a very short time he should return from Vir- 
ginia for the purpose of making his future home in Melton, where, as a 
junior partner in the law firm of Thornton & Fenton, he hoped that he 
would share something of its future success, and wear worthily whatever 
honors might come to his portion. 

The foregoing information volunteered to the White family by 
young Fenton was the result of the interview between Judge Thornton 
and himself. The judge had first explained to Fenton how the village 
of Melton, although certainly rather an unimportant little place so far 


A biXm GENTLEMAN. 


43 


as it was directly concerned, was the county seat of a very wealthy 
county, so far as counties in any of the southern States were usually 
classed, and that the law business of that county was quite a large affair 
when considered in the aggregate. Moreover, Pike County was the 
center of a circle of wealthy counties contained in that division of the 
circuit and chancery courts of the state, as it was also the geographical 
center of the Eight congressional district, all of which, taken into con- 
sideration, made it one of the most important counties in the State 
when reference was made to the practice of law. 

The judge also presented to the mind of young Fenton the objections 
which had arisen within his experience to a young man, who was just 
starting out in life, settling in a large, overflowing city like Nashville. 
There were many old and middle-aged members of the bar there who 
would selfishly prevent, by all means in their power, a young barrister 
from rising above a certain mediocre level in the ranks of his adopted 
profession. Very often ere he was aware of it a young man’s identity 
was lost in the hurry and skurry of the great mass, all endeavoring to 
elbow their way to a mere living pittance, and compelled to abandon all 
hope of rising above the ordinary level. The judge remembered the old 
adage that there was plenty of room at the top, but there were a great 
many young men in Nashville contending for that honorable position, 
and, after all, the top might mean just as much to a member of the Mel- 
ton bar, the starting point of many of the great legal lights of the pres- 
ent day, as would the top of the bar in the city of Nashville. Long and 
earnestly did Judge Thornton engage the young man in conversation, 
and presented the whole situation to him with all the ardor and eloquence 
of a thoroughly ripe and experienced mind. And when he had finished, 
he explained that he had felt attracted toward him from the first, and 
could scarcely account for the unusual interest he had taken m his wel- 
fare, but in order that he might know and feel the truth of all that he 
had said, he then proposed that if Fenton would make his future home 
in Melton, he wonld co-operate with him in the practice of law, for he 
felt that his influence would be of some benefit to him, and bring about 
some needed diversion for the judge himself, since he found that the 
complete inactivity in business affairs which he had maintained since 
his retirement from the congressional field did not suit him as well as he 
thought it would at first. 


44 


A DtXIE GENTLEMAN. 


. Young Fenton at once felt the force of the judge’s remarks about 
his beginning his career in a large city, an undertaking concerning which 
he himself had harbored many doubts in his mind, and the sensible man- 
ner in which the older man explained the advantages of a smaller field 
quite won him over to the same way of thinking, so that when he pro- 
posed to him that they should make a partnership affair of it and call it 
even, the young lawyer could not conceal his delight and gratitude. He 
grasped the old judge’s hand, and sealed tlie compact with a hearty shake 
right there and then. 

When this understanding was arrived at, they proceeded to one of 
the stores, where a small crowd of whittlers was collected as usual, and 
after exchanging salutations with several of them, the judge announced 
in a tone loud enough to be heard by all present that he had conclued 
to emerge again from his retirement into private life and re-engage in 
the practice of law, in the details of which he would be assisted by their 
genial acquaintance and a rising young barrister, Mr. Robert Fenton. 

The moment succeeding this announcement by the judge was one of 
profound silence, and then a wild hurrah broke from every throat in the 
small crowd, and Fenton soon found himself to be the hero of the hour. 
The news of the partnership spread swiftly, though invisibly, and in a 
short time every business man and lawyer in the village had heard of it. 
There was even more important matters whispered in the news which 
flew about so quickly than came to the ears of young Fenton for many 
long months after the events of that day, though doubtless he would 
have paid but little attention to it at that time even if he had known 
what it was. 

When jthe judge began his first study of the character of young 
Fenton, he not only beleived that he had represented in him the elements 
of a successful lawyer,' but he fancied that he could see a resemblance to 
that sort of timber used in the construction of a great statesman. The 
more he pondered over the future which he thought was in store for him, 
the more he became convinced that he was just the sort of person that 
he would some day like to see occupying his old seat in the national leg- 
islature, Between the present young man and the realization of the 
judge’s hopes in that respect lay a long, arduous road to travel, but, in 
his declining years, what could bring a greater amount of solace to the 
mind of Judge Thornton than that he had been the means of giving a 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


45 


worthy young man a start in life that would ultimately bring a great 
blessing to the home of his nativity, to the great Southland now so 
shrouded in darkness, and to the great and glorious country which he 
had risked his life to save? 

All this was imbedded deeply in the judge’s mind when he had pro- 
posed the partnership to young Fenton, but not a word in regard to it 
escaped his lips. If his was to be the guiding hand to start the young 
man upon his brilliant voyage, it had best be done in complete silence, 
so that no wavering doubts or perplexed questions unsolved should har- 
rass the student mind while performing the first offices of his great 
undertaking, of which he had not yet the first faint idea. 

While this was running through the mind of Judge Thornton, 
something akin to it, but with a different subject to work upon, was 
agitating the mind of the villagers, in the news to which reference has 
been made. The substance of this rumor was as follows: The old 
judge had announced that he was again to re-enter the practice of law. 
Was it not also his intention, when the proper time came, to contend for 
his old seat in Congress? If so, there would be no possible doubt about 
his being successful, and once again old Melton would have the dis- 
tinguished honor of being claimed as the home of the sitting member 
and the district would be represented, as of yore, by a Union soldier. 

The reader is sufficiently well acquainted with the nature of small 
towns to know just how such rumors will start from somewhere — nobody 
knows exactly where, and nobody stops sufficiently long to find out 
before acquainting his next door neighbor with all that he had heard — 
the writer uses the pronoun “he” because women know nothing about 
rumors, they always repeat facts — and the faster such rumors fly about, 
strange and unaccountable as it seems, the thicker they get clogged up 
with additions, until at last the whole thing plumps down somewhere a 
solid fact, and a good-sized fact, too, and one that nobody dares to deny, 
unless it be the individual himself or his brother. 

The members of the new firm had spent the remainder of the day 
in selecting a suitable office for the transaction of business, and making 
the necessary arrangements, all of which were to be throughly completed 
immediately upon the return of young Fenton from Virginia about a 
month hence. 

Upon hearing the account which Fenton gave concerning the 


46 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


arrangments he had made for his future, Mr. White and his wife extend- 
ed their hearty congratulations, and predicted that he could not fail to 
do well with such an advantageous beginning of his career. Mr. White 
also informed the young man that before long he would send his son 
Walter to school near Melton, and he hoped that if, at any time, it 
should com6 in his way he would look after his welfare occasionally and 
.inform them if all was not going as it should be. 

Fenton was glad to hear that Walter would be so near him, and 
readily promised to watch and assist him in any way that he could. 
The young lawyer had formed quite a strong attachment toward Mr. 
White and Walter while on their trip to Nashville, and was very much 
pleased to find in Mrs. White the pleasant and sociable woman that she 
was generally regarded to be by her neighbors. Notwithstanding the 
warm and friendly manner in which the White family had treated him, 
however, there was one singular mystery which grew upon him more and 
more, during his two days’ stay at their residence, and that was the 
cause of their apparent coldness toward the little girl. Flora Hexam. 

The brief history that he was able to gather of the family ran about 
as follows: Mr. White had emigrated from the State of Vermont witfr 
his wife and one child, when the latter was three years old. He had 
invested his small savings in a tract of wooded land in this mountain 
region, to which during the space of eleven years he had added three 
oilier small purchases, making in all about eight hundred acres, one-half 
of which was under cultivation, though yielding but little more than 
was necessary for his own use and that of his stock. Hence it had been 
customary for him to prepare rafts like the one previously mentioned, 
which not only paid a large part of his living expenses but enabled him 
to lay by something each year for investment in the cheap lands which 
surrounded him, considering that the day was not far distant when this 
property would be of far greater value. He was regarded by his neigh 
bors as a good financier, just and honest in all his dealings, and possessed 
of a high sense of moral duty. 

His wife was a helpmeet to him in the fullest sense of the term, 
being a wise and careful housekeeper, wasting nothing that could be 
used to advantage, of a cheerful, sociable disposition, and extremely 
popular among the neighboring families of their acquaintance. The 
boy Walter, now fourteen years of age, was a perfect pattern of his 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


47 


father, and gave promise of a life of usefulness. 

Some five years previous to the opening of our story the White 
family received an addition to their number in the person of a daughter of 
Mrs. White’s sister, three years of age. The mother had requested on 
her death-bed that Flora should be sent to her sister, although nothing 
was said of the whereabouts of her father. The uncle and aunt received 
and cared for the little girl entrusted to their care, but for some rather 
mysterious reason they never referred to her with anysymptons of pride, 
and while they probably never harbored a thought to do less for her 
than the strictest measure of duty required as her nearest relatives, yet 
neglect in many ways was painfully apparent, unatoned for by a rigid 
watch upon her actions. 

The childhood days of little Flora Hexam were not happy ones, 
and the strict manner in which she was treated by the White family 
caused her, in manner and appearance, to be totally unlike most other 
children of her age. Notwithstanding her tender years, she had a keen, 
almost womanlike perception of the ditterence with which Walter and 
herself were treated by Mr. and Mrs. White. In Walter all their fond- 
est hopes seemed to be c^ntered.*^ By every means of encouragement in 
their power, they gave him to understand that his pathway through life 
was to be no ordinary one, and they plainly told him that the little 
country school which he had been attending a few months in each year 
was only intended as a stepping stone to the finished education that was 
to be his , and which in a few months more, he would begin in real 
earnest at an academy conducted by an eminent proffessor, situated in a 
small village not far from Melton. 

While to Walter every consideration was shown which would tend 
to encourage him in his studies and increase his love for home and his 
parents, nothing of this kind was little Flora’s portion. She had been 
taught her letters by Mrs. White, because the latter could not con- 
scientiously allow her to grow up in complete ignorance, but very little 
attention had she received in a literary way beyond that point. No 
pleasant stories usually so delightful to children of her age, were told 
or read to her, and not even particles of her own family history were 
ever repeated in her hearing. Flora had an indistinct rememberance of 
her father and mother, and had been told that they were both dead, but 
knew nothing of the cause of their deaths, So neglected was she. 


48 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


indeed, whenever it was usually considered necessary that a child’s 
tender feelings were involved, that she early began to learn the fact that 
her happiest moments were those spent in complete solitude, and hence 
it was that- in the pleasant summer time she would oftentimes quietly 
steal away from the house, where all seemed so dreary and lonely, and 
so repugnant to her childish nature, and stroll away under the tall trees 
in the woods until she would get entirely out of sight and hearing of 
every one at the house, where she would spend hours at a time in 
delightful communion with herself, not forgetting to notice the birds 
and leafy trees in her conversation, and often looking up at the blue 
sky beyond, or listening in admiration to the rushing sound of the river 
only a short distance away. She became in fact almost a child of 
nature, and innocently worshiped at its shrine as to her the loveliest 
and most peaceful of all earthly objects. 

To Flora, then, the Spring, Summer and Fall were all that she 
could desire, for they gave her an opportunity tc seek her loved com- 
panions; but the Winter season was the bane of her existence. To be 
shut up in the house all day long with her severe Aui>t Susan was tor- 
ture itself, and as soon as she was old enough to be considered of some 
use in household affairs, she was compelled to drudge from morning 
until night, and even until bedtime some useful employment was 
furnished her. So that when day after day passed with nothing to 
cheer her drooping spirits, and the same dull routine to be traversed 
over and over again, her health would begin to fail, and she did not 
seem to be the same creature at all until the springtime reappeared. 
Thus was little Flora Hexam slowly passing by the years when she 
should reach maidenhood, unloved by any human being, uncarressed in 
any way that a child so dearly loves and often remembers in after years* 
with the fondest pleasure. Oh, how her heart would harden in those 
times, when looking back upon her childhood days, toward those whose 
duty it was to do more than provide her with simple food and clothing. 
Even as a child she possessed a spirit that needed comfort and minis- 
tration. She needed to be taught that only the ways of virtue could 
bring peace and happiness to the everlasting soul at the close of life’s 
journey, and that all along the opposite pathway were bitter thorns hid 
under the roses that beguiled her on and on, that would at last pierce 
through the fleecy veil with which they covered themselves, and sting 


A nrxIK GENTLEMAN. 


49 


her witli a remorselessness tliat only those who have passed through the 
fiery ordeal can tell. But whom would she hold responsible then for 
the careless treatment of her childhood? Ah, that was the bitterest 
thought of all. For those who had given her meat and bread to sustain 
the body in its growing years had neglected the most important of all 
interests, the proper training of the spirit, which heaven undoubtedly 
meant for them to perform. 

Neither of the family ever spoke of her to any one else, and only 
spoke to her in a commanding or fault-finding way. They seemed to 
regard her as a being in their house on sufferance alone, and unless com- 
pelled to recognize her presence, endeavored to forget her very existence. 
Whenever Fenton was given an opportunity he did not fail to address 
her in a kindly way, as if he wished to atone for the slights put upon 
her by the rest of the family. Whether Mr. White and his wife ever 
noticed the perplexed manner in which Fenton regarded the little girl or 
not, they volunteered no information regarding her, nor did they abate 
in the least degree their cool treatment towards her. 

To Fenton the little girl seemed to possess a woman’s heart that 
was aching for sympathy. Her face would light up with a half serious 
smile when he spoke to her, and looked as though, if she had dared she 
should like to unburden to him all her troubles. This wistful expression 
fixed itself in his mind’s eye, and imbedded itself so deeply in his mem- 
ory that he carried it about with him for many a long day thereafter, 
and in fact never became entirely effaced during his whole lifetime. 
And he often found cause to regret that, while it was so easily in his 
power to have done so, he had not stooped down and, clasping the 
sweet, expressive little face in his great hands, kissed away the sorrow- 
ful expression, and held her close until she had made him acquainted 
with all, her troubles, 

However, he mistook this desire upon his part for some poetic 
fancy of his vivid imagination, and endeavored to banish it in order that 
its place might be filled with more sensible and practical ideas, and not 
until years had passed away since that time did he discover the serious 
mistake which he was then making, when if he had but listened to the 
gentle promptings of his own unselfish nature, perhaps untold misery 
might have been saved to several broken hearts. 

Without yielding to the impulse of the hour, the time of his depar- 


50 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


ture drew near, and bidding a kind farewell to his new friends he left 
them to go back to his Virginia home, which was in a few days- to 
belong to the days of his youth and pass out of his life forever. Fenton 
would have preferred, only a short time previous, not to leave his old 
home at Fredericksburg, and seek a residence among utter strangers, 
but now everything appeared to him so different. He had met those 
strangers, and they had given him a kindly welcome, and after all they 
did not seem so different from people at home. He had ascertained, by 
a lucky circumstance, that they, like his own people, treated a true gen- 
tleman with unfailing respect, while the thieves and rascals, when their 
sins found them out, met with their just deserts. With such people he 
was not afraid to cast his lot. And the inducement offered him by 
which he had an opportunity to rise in his chosen profession, if he con- 
tained the right sort of material, were far beyond anything he had reason 
to anticipate, and surpassed everything that he could hope to gain in his 
native State for many years to come. 

His grandfather was highly pleased at his glowing prospects, and 
offered no obsticle to his immediate departure for his new home, 
although he was certain that he should sadly miss the bright eye and the 
frank, manly countenance of his grandson, for whose conduct he had 
never yet been given cause to blush. However, he said little of this 
feeling to young Fenton, for he felt that the time was fast drawing near 
when their earthly companionship would be separated never to be re- 
united and he would prefer having the consolation at the last that Fen- 
ton’s future career was well assured than to have detained him another 
day in a place where the prospects of no young man could be considered 
bright and hopeful. 

Thus the last days of March passed away and the second spring 
month generally so pleasant in the South with its fragrant .budding 
roses and sunny showers, burst upon the scenes of our story. But all 
weather was alike to the young man just now, so busy with his final prep- 
arations for departure that he noted but few changes in wind or season. 
So many things were to be done which he had neyer thought of before, 
and his old-time friends and associates, finding that he was really on the 
point of leaving them for good and all, almost continually hovered about 
him, asking him questions over and over again as to his future prospects, 
what kind of a country he was going to live in, and whether he really 


A DiKiK C1':n'1'li<:man: 


5 ^ 

thought it would not be best for him to st£iy whefe he was* To all of 
these questions, however, Fenton replied with the Utmost good nature 
imaginable, though not once wavering in his determination to seek a 
new field for his labors, let the consequences be what they might. He 
posessed a lofty ambition, l)ut had the good sense at all times to curb it 
within the natural resources which surrounded him, and he instinctively 
felt that somehow his future field of usefulness would be amply large to 
give vent to all the powers and abilities which he possessed. 

With such thoughts uppermost in his mind, and with many sad 
regrets for the home and friends of his boyhood days, he left the State 
of his nativity to seek a prosperous future amid other scenes. 


52 


A DlXlfi GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER V. 

Dr. Joran, the father of Felix, had been quite a wealthy slave 
owner in his time, and when they were freed by the government the 
major portion of his wealth slipped through his fingers. Having long 
been a rank hater of the North, of Northern institutions, manners and 
mode of government, he was one of the very first to take up arms in the 
rebellion, and fought with desperation and bravery worthy a better 
cause until its close. At the bitter end, he found himself and family 
bereft of everything in the shape of personal property. His horses and 
cattle were sacrificed to their personal necessities,' his houses in a decay- 
ing, uninhabitable condition, and himself and family clothed almost in 
rags. His lands were left to him, but for a longtime to come valueless. 
His former slaves, upon wfibse help he had hitherto depended and grown 
rich, were scattered hither and thither, except probably a half-dozen too 
old and helpless to be of much service, but who persisted in remaining 
near the old plantation. Thus without horses and mules, and the 
negroes to work them, and without even means to sustain them while 
at work during the year, it was utterly impossible for him to cultivate 
the land, and without some other means with which to start up again in 
life, unused as he had always been himself to the rough life of a farmer, 
his lands, for all they were worth to him without a complete change of 
his condition, might just as well have been given away — for the idea of 
selling them was sheer nonsense — there was no sale for them. 

Let the reader pause for a moment and reflect upon the condition 
of this family — and its condition was that of many thousands in the 
South at that time — in fact, it was the universal condition in which any 
difference whatsoever would have proved a rare exception. Was it any 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


53 


wonder that their hearts should harden toward their enemies of the 
North? Was it any wonder that, although the people of the South had 
laid down their arms, they should feel a desire to take them up again 
when they compared their condition to that of their enemies, and give 
up life itself in one more grand final struggle to recover all. 

The doctor managed to borrow some means by which he started to 
farming again on a very small scale, hiring a few negroes in consideration 
of paying them for their labor by giving them food and shelter and some 
very scant clothing — about all that any of them ever received from him 
even in more prosperous days. Like many other southern farmers after 
the war, he worked upon the actual necessities of the negro to obtain 
from him the service that the slave was compelled to yield. No blame 
could be attached to the doctor’s motives for the first two or three years 
because he was certainly in no condition to do better for his hired help 
than he did do. 

The southern citizen has been blamed for not recovering sooner 
from the effects of the evils which he had brought upon himself, and not 
being in a position to do justice toward those upon whose labor he de- 
pended for a living. However repentant the southerner might be, it 
certainly could not but show to ill advantage when himself and loved 

ones were starving and clothed in rags. 

Dr. Joran had been a successful physician and business man before 

the war, and its years of deprivation and hardship had not dulled his 
wits in the least. He not only took all possible advantage of the help- 
less condition of the former slaves who chanced to come in his way, but 
he charged the whites heavy toll for his services as a physician, which, 
if they did not requite him with ready cash, would be confiscated out of 
whatever personal property they might happen to possess, and where 
that fell short he was not too timid to claim a certain interest in their 
landed estates. By this means he acquired a good deal of property 
within a few years, and several tracts of land that formerly belonged to 
his neighbors. 

Should a poor negro or his family fall sick and require his services 
and that was often the case when they did not have sufficient food and 
clothing, the doctor would either kill or cure them in a very short time, 
and as payment for his services he seemed to think that a lifetime of 
hard labor upon his farm was a sort of a privilege that they should feel 
proud and grateful to possess, 


54 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


This was the sort of tuition under which young Felix grew up to 
manhood’s estate. In him were fostered all the elements of avarice, 
greediness and selfishness that is easy for a human body to contain. 
One of his earliest lessons within his recollection was intended to teach 
him that the negro should not be regarded as superior to any other 
domestic animal, except when considering his value in the market. 
And when the government commanded that he should be treated and 
respected as a human being, and observing his father fly into fearful 
passions at the bare idea of such a thing being mentioned in his presence, 
Felix felt, that it was a sacred duty he owed to his beloved sire to imi- 
tate such a worthy example in his hatred for the government, for the 
people of the North, and for every one in the South who sympathized 
with the condition of the negro. 

But when Lawyer Felix began paying attention to the daughter of 
Judge Thornton he tempered his political feelings to the winds which 
blew in that direction. Whenever he found himself in the presence of 
the old gentleman, it appeared that his sentiments in regard to Union 
sympathizers had undergone a very remarkable change, and he was often 
heard to deplore the fact that the war had ever occurred, there not 
Veing sufficient cause for anything of the sort, and that he had always 
endeavored to treat the negro in a humane and Christian manner — all 
with the evident desire to impress the judge with the conviction that 
while he may have been born and raised a rebel, yet he had been unable 
to prevent his unfortunate condition, and was doing his utmost to atone 
for it. 

But it became evident that a great change was to come over the 
dreams of Felix Joran. When he had seen Fenton and Judge Thornton 
walking together he had given way to a terrible passion. He realized 
that his plans were about to be frustrated and his hopes of adding an- 
other fortune to his own were doomed to despair. For awhile he was 
too much overcome with chagrin to formulate a course of action for the 
future. He had so often of late congratulated himself upon his skillful 
diplomacy in the art of securing wealth that he had not paused to con- 
• sider the possibility of disappointment, and now it had come upon him 
with its full force, with not a gleam of light to lead him in the under- 
taking upon which lie had been priding himself. 

Ah, yes, there was one chance left. He still had faith in the ef- 
ficacy of the poisonous insinuations which he had instilled into the 


• A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


55 


mind of Irene. So far as the judge himself was concerned Felix was 
now convinced that his falsehood had fallen to the ground without effect. 
The judge might even seek to hold him responsible at some future time 
for endeavoring to create such a false impression. And yet somehow 
he felt that his effort to create or feed the prejudice already existing in 
the mind of Irene had been successful. 

Thus to the mind of Lawyer Joran the night following the day up- 
on which young Fenton had returned to Melton from Nashville was one 
of conflicting, harrowing doubt. He retired to bed earlier than usual 
because he was too troubled to write, and there he passed a restless 
night in sleepless anxiety, for it seemed that he was possessed of a fore- 
boding of trouble in store for him, a trouble that would prove a 
realization of the disappointment that had come to him that afternoon 
with such awful intensity. In the morning he arose, and endeavored to 
compose his mind to the performance of the day’s tasks before him, hut 
he found that to be an impossibility. He strolled on the village street, 
and engaged in commonplace conversation with some particular acquain- 
ance. It was while he was thus idly passing away the morning hours 
that he observed Judge Thornton and young Fenton walk down the 
street and enter, a store, and ere long he caught the news being whis- 
pered about tha-t the judge and young Fenton were to practice law in 
partnership. 

This was more than Lawyer Joran had expected or even dreamed 
of. He now felt that all the hope he had entertained toward securing 
posession of Irene and her little fortune might as well be abandoned at 
once. As he thought of young Fenton outwitting him on every hand, 
and foiling him in his deep-laid schemes, he became pale and clenched his 
hands with rage. He declared that he believed Fenton was a scape- 
grace and an outcast, and so poor and unknown that he was beneath the 
notice of decent men in his own State and prophesied that Judge Thorn- 
ton would some day have cause to rue the bargain he had made. 

Some of the villagers, who had from the first been favorably impress- 
ed with the appearance of Fenton, protested against this wholesale 
denunciation of the young man by one who knew nothing more about 
him than they did, which had the effect of causing Felix to turn the 
battery of his wrath upon them. He asserted that he had been long ob- 
servant of the fact that Melton people in general had not treated him 


56 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


with that measure of respect that he thought was due him, and that to 
his mind they had evidenced a decided preference amounting to a relish 
for the society of outcasts and negroes, holding at. arm’s length a respect- 
able man who happened to be a southerner and bidding him keep at a 
distance. -^He said that he had borne all this in silence so long that he 
could stand it no longer, until he had come to the conclusion that in 
order to retain his self-respect it would be best for him to change his 
place of residence, which he had now determined to do in a very short 
time. 

This declaration of Lawyer Joran occasioned considerable surprise 
upon the part of the Melton people, but it cannot be said that it caused 
any vast amount of regret. The avarice and selfishness of the 
young man were proverbial, and very little time had been spent by any- 
one in wasting affection upon him. He had not condescended to inform 
the villagers whither he intended to go, and no one had shown enough 
interest in his departure to ask the question. But it seemed that he had 
certain plans in view in regard to such a change as he contemplated 
making long before the period just mentioned, and he had only openly 
announced his plans in order to give vent to his spiteful feelings toward 
Judge Thornton and his charge. Lawyer Joran had an ambition to be- 
come prominent in a political way. Not that he had any idea of becom- 
ing a great statesman and being of service to his country, but he knew 
that political power in the hands of one who did not blush to use it, 
could be made to smooth the way to riches, and riches was the chief 
goal of his ambition. With this idea in view he had sought to make 
himself prominent at the difterent elections held for members of Con- 
gress in his district, and not a few had been heard to wonder if he did 
not intend to aspire to that honor himself. 

During the time he had been so earnestly seeking the prize inclosed 
in the hand of Irene Thornton, Joran had held somewhat in abeyance 
this political scheme which had been running through his ideas concern- 
ing the fastest way to make money, but now that the former scheme 
must be abandoned, he determined to turn his whole and undivided at- 
tention to the study of political schemes and tricks, which would enable 
him to accomplish the coveted aim at the bottom of all his ambitions 
and aspirations. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


57 


To carry out this idea the better, as he thought, it would be neces- 
sary for him to change his place of residence from Melton to Cedartown, 
a growing little town about twenty miles distant, in the adjoining coun- 
ty of Carter, and in the same congressional district as Melton, By this 
means, he reasoned, he would get the support of the citizens of his 
adopted county ^as well as that of his native one, which would give 
him a good start in the race against any competitor. 

Lawyer Joran so throughly put his plans into immediate excution 
that tlie first of March beheld him safely domiciled in a new office at 
Cedartown, having left Melton without even so much as taking the 
trouble to call at the Thornton mansion and explain why he had relin- 
quished all hopes that he had formerly entertained of becoming an af- 
fectionate member of the family. If he had been possessed of a desire 
to clear every obstacle out of the pathway of young Fenton which he 
had formerly sought to interpose between that young man and Irene, it 
would seem as if he could not have adopted a better course than he had 
pursued. 

Shortly after Lawyer Joran had removed himself and his effects to 
his new location, and had established himself by introducing himself to 
every individual that he met, whether man or boy, white or black, as 
the decendant of the distinguished Dr, Joran, deceased, formerly of 
Pike County, a personal item appeared in the columns of the Cedar- 
town Herald running about as follows: 

“We have the pleasure of announcing to the citizens of Cedartown 
this week that the talented young lawyer from Melton, Mr. Felix Joran, 
has lately become a resident of this place. His name is familiar to 
many of our readers as that of the son of an old and distinguished set- 
tler of Pike County, and it is with unfeigned pleasure that we welcome 
him to our midst. In this connection we hope he will pardon us for 
publishing a rumor that has been whispering over this Congressional 
district for some months past, to the effect that he will enter the lists as 
a candidate for Congressional honors at the next election. In such an 
event, we can assure him of our cordial and hearty support, and trust 
that his candidacy may be well received by this and all other counties of 
the district.” 

It appeared perfectly plain to Lawyer Joran that if he was going 
to make a bid for popularity he must adopt a different course from that 
which he pursued at Melton. Then he was not on familiar terms with 
any except a very few. Now he would become familiar with every- 


58 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


body. He knew that in order to get the nomination of his party he 
must stand a good prospect of drawing votes from his Republican 
opponent, and therefore he set to work to get control of the negro vote. 
There wbre many ways of doing this, and Lawyer Joran had not lived 
all his life among negroes without being able to understand that depart- 
ment of his work thoroughly. 

The extract given from the “Herald” shows that he had cultivated 
the acquaintance of its editor to good advantage, and that was only the 
beginning of a large number of other favorable notices of his candidacy, 
until it gradually dawned upon the intellect of the citizens of the dis- 
trict, as he had not taken the trouble to deny the truthfulness of any of 
the notices, he must certainly be understood as an avowed candidate for 
congress. The present member from the district whose term was about 
to expire, had disavowed any intention of being a candidate for re-elec- 
tion, no other candidate had as yet been mentioned on the Democratic 
side, and it was beginning to be apparent that Lawyer Joran would have a 
clear walkover to his seat in congress, unless extraordinary efforts were 
made by the republicans to defeat him. 

But the rebuplicans, since the retirement of Judge Thornton and the 
redistricting of the State, by which the large majority of republicans 
pi the Eighth Congressional District had been reduced to a hopeless 
minority, had lost all hope of regaining their former foothold, and in 
fact barely succeeded in holding their organization as a party together 
in that district, and did not take the trouble to place a candidate in the 
field. 

Thus as the time approached for holding a Democratic convention, 
and no opposition whatever had been developed against Lawyer Joran 
by the Republicans, it became evident that it would be perfectly useless 
to hold a convention, and he was generally accepted by all as the only 
candidate in the field. When he had first conceived the idea of enter- 
ing the political arena he had not thought it possible to carry off the 
laurels so easily as it was now perfectly evident that he would do, and 
yet he labored assiduously until the very day of the election, leaving no 
stone unturned that was at all likely to prove a detriment to his cause, 
going about almost incessantly night and day from one part of the district 
to the other, making but few commonplace speeches, for that he deemed 
unnecessary, but talking privately to every one that he met ^nd constantly 
urging them to activity in his behalf, 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


50 


While it is a common thing to accuse Southern Congressman of the 
detestable practice of obtaining their seats by fraud and bribery, the 
wholesale buying up of negro votes, and brow-beating and bulldozing 
others, yet Lawyer Joran could not be accused of resorting to such 
practices as these, for even if he should have been entirely willing to 
lend himself to the practice of such schemes in case of opposition — and 
that could scarcely be doubted — it was not necessary in his case, and 
consequently he appeared to be the very soul of honor in all of his 
electioneering devices. He could afford to be in this case, and it 
occured to him that if he should happen to desire a re-election — not a 
very great improbabilty — he could refer to this occasion with a great 
show of pride, and in case of being charged with corrupt practices could 
easily refute them by referance to his dignified conduct at this election, 
to all of which there would be many witnesses. 

He was proud to feel that in all probability he would be allowed 
the distinguished privilege of representing his whole constituancy with out 
regard to party feelings and prejudice. He could hardly expect, as what 
Democrat would, he urged, to obtain the entire Republican vote in this 
election, but all such considerations would have no weight with him 
while filling the duties of his high office and he trusted that he should 
be able to treat all alike and with exact fairness. 

To do justice, however, to the more intellectual class of Repub- 
licans, both white and black, none of them believed the honeyed phrases 
of Lawyer Joran, and when the election came on they abstained from 
voting at all, or else cast their suffrage for some individual not even 
desiring the honor of election. Thus while the lawyer succeeded in 
obtaining a few republican votes they came from that class too ignorant 
to appreciate the fact that they were voting for their very worst enemy. 

Of course Lawyer Joran was elected, as he could hardly fail of 
being, after considering all the circumstances in his favor. To say that 
he was in raptures would be a truthful representation of his position. 
As he pondered over the happy consummation of his great scheme, and 
remembered how he had in that way circumvented the heavy disappoint- 
ment caused by the miserable failure of his other wily scheme at Melton, 
he fairly gloated with joy. He now prepared to teach a severe lesson to 
young upstartish scapegraces and outcasts who attempted to thrust them- 
selves into his pathway, for UQver again woulcj h^ brook disappointment 
from any one, 


6o . A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


It is not a matter of wonder to the reader that he had paid but few 
visits to Melton during his recent successful canvass. He had no love 
for the little village or its inhabitants, and his recollections of his 
residence there were not pleasant ones. Its quite life and lovely scenery 
had but little charm for his goldseeking eye, and the few visits that he 
was compelled to honor the place with from time to time were those 
of a purely business nature, and made as briefly as possible. On these 
occasions, however, he always took pains to express his utmost contempt 
for the place and its citizens, and especially for their predilection for 
harboring outcasts and treating negroes with a decent show of humanity. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


6i 


CHAPTER VI 

To one who has lived south of Mason and Dixon’s line, and yet 
who has also had ample opportunity of studying in the North the opin- 
ion held there of southern people, both white and black, their habits, 
customs and beliefs, it does indeed seem passing strange that so little 
should be known of a subject concerniug which so much has been writ- 
ten? And the more the subject is reflected upon, the deeper must 
the impression necessarily become so that when the writer uses the 
word “people,” in regard to either section of the Union, it is meant to 
indicate certain individual leaders and not the mass of people. If a 
reader should constantly keep this idea in view, while living in one 
section and attempting to gain a knowledge of the other by way of pub- 
lished literature, he or she would almost invariably arrive at this con- 
clusion: That while they might gain a very good idea of the transac- 
tion of certain leaders who were thus made to represent sections, still no 
very distinct impressions would be formed of the mass of people them- 
selves. 

Never was there a time when the great body of people in the South, 
prior to the civil war, would not have set the negro free upon receipt of 
his market value, and President Lincoln represented no more the views 
of an individual leader than he did those of the northern masses when he 
declared, in his first message, the duty of Congress to pay the South for 
her negroes and set them free. But there were southern leaders, many 
of them preachers of the gospel it should be confessed, but most of them 
wily politicians, who prated of the divine right of slavery and counseled 
the people that the Union had better be torn asunder than to yield up 


62 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


such a right? Possibly in the animated discussions of those days south- 
ern people were not aware that they were yielding up their perceptions 
of right and wrong to a class of demagogues who were urging them on 
to ruin, but if they had never done so before they did it then, and they 
have repeatedly done so since, notwithstanding the lessons which have been 
taught them. A class of southern leaders swindled the people in i860 
by dragging them into a ruinous war upon mistaken theories of right and 
wrong, causing the loss of a billion dollars’ worth of property 
and the death of many thousands of brave men. Since that time many 
of those same leaders have been busy in hatching up .swindling games of 
every kind, such as lotteries, marriage and birth insurance associations, 
real estate booms, and so on ad infinitum. Are the people of the South 
to be held responsible as the cause of their own degration and ruin? 
Heaven knows they have suffered enough without this charge being 
placed against the individuals to whom it properly belongs. 

And since the war the mass of people in the South have made the 
home of the negro as pleasant as their own circumstances would permit. 
They have employed him and honestly paid him for his hire as far as 
their slender means would allow. They could not have done otherwise 
even if they had desired, which they did not, for having depended upon 
the negroe’s services so long, they were unable to do without them- 
But while this was commonly the case, there were notable exceptions to 
the rule, and these exceptions have been published broadcast throughout 
the world, and from them the reader in the North has formed his or her 
opinion of the people in the South. The day for classing negroes in 
America as a race of servants is rapidly passing away, and, barring com- 
mon school educational facilities, the condition of the negro servants in 
the South is no worse than that of white servants in the North, and in 
multiplied instances that of the northern servants is much the worse of 
the two. This will seem a broad statement to persons who have been 
educated to believe that the negro is the object of intense hatred to the 
southerner, but it is one of which there have been ample means of ob- 
servation, needing no hearsay evidence whatever to prove its truth. 

( Felix Joran, Esq., now a member of Congress-elect essayed to 
belong to that class of southern gentry denominated leaders. Having 
been taught to believe that the African race was forever doomed to 
slavery, and that the North had assumed an authority that did not 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


63 


belong to it when giving the slave his freedom, he was possessed of a 
determination to do the negro all the injury in his power, as a means of 
spiteing his enemy in the North. In the first place, he opposed the idea 
of negro education with all the vehemence of which he was capable, 
because he felt that while they were in a state of ignorance he could 
easily manage tham, in the face of all opposition. His republican 
enemy had freed the negro and givpn him the right of suffrage, which 
latter, in the ignorant state of the former slave, of course he did not 
know how to properly use. But Joran at once recognized the fact that 
the negro’s ballot was a power which he could show him how to use 
with the greatest of pleasure. He knew what a few honeyed phrasjes 
would do in the ear of a gullible negro at election time, and boasting 
this knowledge within himself, he took no pains to conceal what kind of 
a political course he intended to adopt. He reasoned, and sensibly it 
would seem from his standpoint, that it would be many years ere the 
Republican party could gain control of the negro vote in the face of his 
wily schemes, and consequently there was no reason to fear for his re- 
election as long as he desired to retain his seat in congress. He cared 
nothing for the accountability which a true representative would have 
felt himself called upon to render to his constituency. He knew that 
his father’s record as a Southern leader, and his own raising under such 
teaching, would be sufficient to satisfy all Southern people who felt 
toward the North and the negro as he himself did. As to his negro 
constituency, he assured himself with great complacency that it would 
be an easy matter to make them believe that all he did and said was for 

their especial benefit and advancement. 

No sooner had he reached a point in his congressional career where 

he could gain the ear of the Northern democarcy than he began to belch 
forth inflammatory utterances against the carpet-baggers. He felt 
certain, he said, that their presence in the South would cause the out- 
break of another civil war. He detailed in flaming colors how they 
were attemping to stir up the ignorant negroes to insurrection and riot 
against their old friends, the Southern whites, and sagely counseled that 
the strong arm of the law should be used to expel them from the South. 
He knew perfectly well that he feared the presence of the carpet-baggers 
on his own account, not that of his constituents, but he wisely kept 
this information to himself, 


64 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


When asked to contribute his influence and ability toward obtain- 
ing governmental assistance for a more extended and perfect system of 
free schools throughout the South, he maintained that he could not 
conscientiously do that as it would assist the negro to an education as 
well as the white population. He argued that the negro was not capable 
of receiving an education and the expenditnre of money for that purpose 
would be useless and extravagant. Joran well knew that he expected to 
retain his seat in congress upon suffrage of the ignorant negro, and in 
consequence he could not afford to have him educated. 

There was one other point in particular which strikingly illustrated 
the miserly penuriousness of this man, who^was attempting to pose be- 
fore the country at large in the garb of a statesman. This State was 
un dergoing the terrible throes of a political discussion in regard to 
payment of the debt which had been incurred both prior to and after 
the civil war. He was appealed to by creditors of the State to use his 
influence in behalf of the State’s credit, and prevent it from soiling its 
reputation by repudiation. He blandly promised them to do all in his 
power, though his time was pretty well taken up with congressional 
matters, and assured them that he had perfect faith in the State paying 
its honest indebtedness. 

Such promises were easily won from him, but how did he proceed 
toward their fulfillment? As it happened he owned some land in his 
own State, and as he thought, was likely to own considerable more in a 
short time. He knew that this land would be taxed for several years to 
come in order to meet the payment of the State’s indebtedness. Ac- 
cordingly he wrote a number of letters to prominent leaders among his 
constituents to do all in their power to have the State repudiate its in- 
debtedness, as he did not think the debts were honest ones, and 
whether so or not that the war had caused the citizens of the State to 
lose their property, and therefore it was only tit-for-tat that the State 
should refuse to pay its debts. 

It happened, however, that his sage counsels had but little weight 
with the honest people of the State, and at that time the indebtedness 
was cpmpromised upon an honorable basis, although the demagogues 
kept hammering at the question as a means of obtaining personal popu- 
larity until, a few years after, the compromise was reconsidered and the 
creditors were forced to accept an insignificant amount or get nothing 
at all, ' ■ 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


65 • 


Such were some of the noble inspirations which animated the states- 
manlike actions of such men as Felix Joran, who greatly prided them- 
selves upon being able to boast that they were representatives of the 
true Southern sentiment, and by which all other true Southerners must 
be judged the world over. Men attempting to t)^ify the South through 
being cast in any other mold than the Felix Joran type were held up to 
the world as imposters and unworthy the notice of intelligent human 
beings. 

Oh, that the honest and upright masses of the South could have 
but realized the manner in which they were painted to the world by 
such dishonest, scheming, selfish political demagogues as Congressman 
Joran and others, who prided themselves upon the cognomen of Southern 
brigadiers in Congress! Would they not have turned upon them 
in their majestic wrath and burned them not only in effigy but in truth, 
and ground their very name into oblivion? Joran’s term in Congress 
was full of misrepresentations of his constituency, of his state, and of 
the South in general. Members of Congress and other prominent indi- 
viduals from different sections of the North would sometimes cultivate 
his acquaintance, in the hope of finding in him a young man with a be- 
coming pride of his native State and anxious to see a new South built 
up in the place of the old rebellious goverments which had blasted the 
prospects of that otherwise beautiful land of sunshine and flowers. But 
they were soon undeceived, and forced to turn from him in loathing, as 
he boasted with such a show of maligant pride over the pre-eminent abil- 
ity of a few southern leaders, while they knew so well of the dark cloud 
of ignorance that hung like a pall over all of the southern States. 

Notwithstanding the cold shoulder which men of refinement and 
education were forced to turn upon Joran, he'had numerous cronies very 
like himself in congress. Probably none more willing than he to enter- 
tain a money-making scheme, whether it happened to bear an honest 
face or not, but representatives of the south, who had obtained their 
seats like he intended to do in the future, upon the votes of their former 
slaves. They were moreover just as anxious as he to prevent the edu- 
cation of the negro and poor white masses of the South, and bitterly 
opposed to granting pensions to the Union soldiers of the North. 

^ Many were the conferences that Joran and these other southern 
members held in secret, and so confiding did they become in the 


66 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


manuevers of each other that the general attention of the country was 
directed toward them by the northern press, calling forth comments 
upon their behavior toward the interest of the country at large and its 
own section in particular? The northern democracy became somewhat 
alarmed at their mysterious actions, and warned them that they had 
better go slow, for if the people got possession of the idea that the 
southern brigadiers were plotting to overthrow the government or any 
portion of it, there would never be another opportunity for the demo- 
cratic party to get control of the nation. This cooled off the impetuous 
style of the misrepresentors for a season, but it had the effect of bringing 
out some opposition to the brigadiers among their constituents in the 
way of rival candidates, so that by the time Joran’s term of membership 
had nearly expired there were some four or five candidates for congress 
in his district. 

This necessitated the calling of a democratic convention for fear 
that, where there were so many democratic candidates in the field a 
republican candidate might slip in. The convention was a long and 
stormy one, though Congressman Joran finally carried off the honors 
upon this occasion, as he would upon any occasion where an attempt 
was being made to choose the chief demagogue of the lot. 

At Melton, and even throughout the district, there was a sort of 
general opinion existing that Judge Thornton would enter the race for 
Congress as the republican candidate at the forthcoming election. He 
had even been approached upon tlie subject at different times during the 
two years just past, and earnestly solicited to come out of his retire- 
ment, but he had always managed to evade a direct answer, and conse- 
quently no satisfactory determination had ever been arrived at upon the 
part of his friends. 

Immediately after the nomination of Congressman Joran for re- 
election by the democratic convention, a large petition signed by citizens 
of Pike County was delivered to the judge, calling upon him to announce 
himself as a candidate. To this petition he mailed a reply to several of 
the district papers, kindly but firmly declining to accede to the call, but 
expressing the sincere hope that the day was not far distant when some 
one younger and far more worthy than himself would be found to rep- 
resent the seat in congress which his people had twice honored him 
with. Until then he hoped they would try to bear the fate in store for 
them with the utmost good patience. 


A DIXIE gentleman. 


d7 


This declination of Judge Thornton, . together with the nonap- 
pearance of any other republican candidate in the field, settled one matter 
conclusively in the mind of Felix Joran. The republicans were 
thoroughly afraid of him, and dared not risk a contest with him. This 
fact also, according to his method of reasoning, gave him a vast 
superiority over the claims of any other rival democratic candidate. 
All of which had the effect of making him much more self-conceited 
than ever before, and the pride and arrogance he assumed in his manner 
toward all republicans and negroes and negro sympathizers in general 
was almost intolerable. He took no further pains to conceal his 
animosity towards the negro, many of whom now saw him in his true 
colors for the first time. His election was a matter of course, and con- 
siderable demonstration was made over the result by his more particular 
friends, but one thing they could not help noticing with an anxiety 
that proved their anticipations for his future were not so bright as he 
seemed to picture them to himself, and that was that his vote in the 
Republican precincts was not near so large as it had been at the for- 
mer election. 

If Congressman Joran’s first term in Congress was characterized by 
the proud and arrogrant manner of an autocrat where he should have 
assumed the mien of an humble representative of a constituency, a large 
proportion of whom had just been freed from the thrall of ignorance 
and slavery, how much more abnoxious did his manner become during 
his second term, now that he felt confident of retaining his seat in Con- 
gress as long as he should desire. As is usually the case, pride and 
arrogance go before a fall, and not long after his re:election he suffered 
a fall that injured his self-conceit more than anything else could possibly 
have done, for it touched that most sacred of all interests — his pocket- 
book. 

During the first term he had judiciously saved a good proportion of 
his salary, and was on the lookout for some plan of investment that 
would yield him a large and ready profit. He had been particularly 
struck with the manner in which some of his fellow members had made 
purchase of shares in a mining enterprise, and finally concluded to buy 
some of the stocks on his own account. 

For awhile all appeared as favorable as he could desire, and the 
prospects for his realizing immense profit appeared to be flattering 


68 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


indeed. In truth, howler, he had been caught in a trap by some 
money sharks, whose principles in regard to such matters were about on 
a par with his own. The money that he had invested was soon swal- 
lowed up, no one could explain exactly how, but it was represented to 
him by the sharks that more funds would be necessary before anything 
could be realized by the mines. In brief he had to furnish more money 
and still more, until not only his savings had all disappeared, but he wa3 
compelled to borrow from his friends and finally to give a mortgage on all 
the property that he possessed, and at last when another payment could 
not be made by him, he ascertained the cruel truth that he had no oppor- 
tunity to realize a dollar from the transaction. 

As before remarked, for a time his pride was humbled to the very 
last degree, and though his constituents did not know his real financial 
condition, an inkling of the truth reached them in the course of time, 
and from that time his former political power over them began to wane. 
It was then that he began to see the necessity of becoming a little more 
zealous in the cause of his constituents. And now, too, he began to 
appreciate the coldness of his Northern associates in Congress, those 
who had turned from him in his proud arrogance. He became deeply 
sensible of his former folly when he endeavored to appease his constitu- 
ents by engineering through Congress some bills of a private nature, and 
found that no faith was placed in his representations and very little 
assistance given him in any of his undertakings. In this manner he 
encountered one defeat after another, and was finally compelled to 
abandon all hope of accomplishing anything for the benefit of either 
himself or his constituents during his second term. 

He did not completely realize the full measure of the misfortune 
which had overtaken him until after he had announced himself as a can- 
didate for another re-election. Then he ascertained that all previous 
opposition was comparatively insignificant to that which was about to 
face him with his own party. He had completely failed to do his con- 
stituents any real service at all, and his incapacity for the position which 
he occupied was painted in glaring colors by his rival candidates. They 
claimed he had been given ample opportunity of demonstrating his capa- 
bilities as a statesman, and had nothing to commend him to the further 
consideration of the people. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


69 


There was a faint suspicion harbored in the minds of some that 
Joran had never exhibited any marked capabilities for the position of 
statesman in the first place, but as everything was moving along as well 
as they could desire just at present they held their peace in that respect. 

But perhaps the rival candidates of Congressman Joran did not give 
that individual credit for the craftiness and cunning, the duplicity, the 
wire-pulling and engineering abilities which he really possessed. The 
truth was that Joran had picked up some useful knowledge while in con- 
gress as to the manipulation of a large convention. Certain it was that 
he understood the undignified process of swapping votes, and after three 
or four unimportant ballots had been taken by the delegates a trade had 
been accomplished by means of which Joran received the desired two- 
thirds majority according to the democratic precedent. The result came 
like a clap of thunder in the ears of the convention. No one was pre- 
pared for such a quick decision of the convention, and consternation 
was depicted upon the countenances of his rivals and their friends. 
Loud and deep were the protests made against the choice of the conven- 
tion, but there was no gainsaying the fact that the choice had been made 
and that the convention was compelled to abide by it. The dissatisfac- 
tion was so general, however, that several independent candidates were 
talked of, but nothing of the kind was definitely concluded upon, and so 
the delegates dispersed to their various homes, most of them grumbling 
over the result. 

Within three days after the adjournment of the democratic conven- 
tion every newspaper in the congressional district published a notice to 
the effect that Mr. Robert Fenton, a member of the distinguished law 
firm of Thornton & Fenton, of Melton, had announced himself as an 
independent democratic candidate for congress to represent the Eighth 
congressional district. 

But before speaking of the effect of this very unexpected announce- 
ment upon the people of the district and the party nominee, Felix Joran, 
the reader is invited to a brief glance at the career of young Fenton 
during the preceding four years, together with the incidents which led 
up to the foregoing announcement. 

As everyone expected it would, the law firm of Thornton & 
Fenton was prosperous from its very beginning. The ability of the old 
judge himself was too thoroughly known to the people of Pike and 


70 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


adjoining counties to need advertising and he alone would have drawn all 
the business to the firm that either member would have leisure to attend 
to, and the frank, quick and businesslike manner of Robert immediately 
bespoke for him a share of the firm’s attractions. He was a good stu- 
dent, thoroughly in earnest in all his work, and at the same time socia- 
ble and friendly with all whom he met, and if he was not fully acquaint- 
ed with all the old musty points of law that the judge had stored away 
in his memory years before, yet he grappled them one by one, and 
needed no second explanation to render them clear and concise to his 
quick and keen judgement. 

The services of the firm were not confined to Pike County, but 
were required at the courts of a number of counties near them, and 
when cases were appealed to the Supreme court of the State, several 
trips were necessary during the year to attend to their business at the 
capital. Thus Fenton’^s circle of acquaintances throughout the Eighth 
congressional district had been gradually widening month after month 
and year after year, until few possessed a more general acquaintance 
than he. And while some few of these many acquaintances may have 
been more or less envious of the pleasant lines into which his career 
had gradually drawn him, yet no one could positively dislike him on 
account of his genial disposition and pleasant word of cheer to all whom 
he met. 

Nay, there was one person who perhaps really disliked him — the 
daughter of his partner, Irene Thornton — and yet certainly no one had 
less cause to do so. Her nature had ever been an unaccountable one in 
its many and various willful caprices, and it seemed that she had formed 
a set resolution in her own mind, that, let her family treat young Fenton 
as they pleased, she would have nothing whatever to do with him. Pos- 
sibly the ideas which Felix Joran had given her had something to do 
with this resolution, and yet strange to say, she had never been pos- 
sessed with a high regard for Felix. She was thoroughly aware that Ke 
was proudly vain and selfish, and believed that he had always, in his at- 
tentions to her, had more regard for the money her father possessed than 
he did for herself. And after the abrupt departure of Felix from the 
village of Melton, without even taking the trouble of saying farewell to 
herself or family, she dismissed all considerations of him from her mind, 
and from that time treated all young men of her acquaintance with the 
s^rne gonsideration. 


A DljilE GENTLEMAN. 


11 


When Irene heard of the partnership formed between lier father and 
Fenton, she made no sign of acquiescence or displeasure^ and apparently 
regarded the whole matter as One of supreme indifference to her. She 
had listened to the praises which Elsie and Mrs. Thornton bestowed 
upon the dignified and gentlemanly conduct and agreeable manners of 
young Fenton with a carelessness that betokened an entire want of in- 
terest in the subject of their conversation, seemingly more occupied in 
her thoughts with matters of much greater importance, at least to her* 
self. 

So fixed was she in her determination not to interest herself in any 
way, or seeming to lend any countenance of approval to the arrangement 
which her father had seen fit to make, and to which her mother and sister 
acquiesced that without condescending to explain her true reasons for doing 
so she took advantage of the opportunity which a long standing invita- 
tion had presented to her to make a visit to some of her former school 
friends residing in the city of Nashville, and accordingly just previous to 
the arrival of Fenton from Virginia to make his home in Melton, she 
took her departure from the village, having obtained consent of her par- 
ents to protract her visit for a number of weeks provided it was agreea- 
ble for her to do so. 

Irene’s ideas of life in general were extremly sensible, and her 
caprices no more than womanly, to say the least, but, as girls are quite 
apt to do, she sometimes placed too little significance upon what might 
possibly and in all probability would become very important facts. 
She had good cause to feel that she was well fitted, both by nature and 
cultivation, to grace an eminent position in refined society. From her 
infancy she had possessed the advantage of good motherly training and 
the counsels of a wise father. Always bright, intelligent and attractive 
as a child, she had grown into lovely womanhood, still retaining all the 
charms of youth and vivacity, and adding yet many more of a stately 
figure, with a queenly poise so natural and becoming to the brunette 
type of American women, a sweetly modulated voice, and all the refined 
accomplishments that belong to ladies of rank and education. 

As most young ladies of her age, she could not bear the idea of set- 
tling down to a dull and stupid life in a country village. She was fond 
of the busy activity of city life, not that she was given over entirely to 
its frivolties and follies — she had been too ^carefully brought up at home 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


7 ^ 


to allow giddy creatures of fashion to carry her beyond a certain 
Lnaidenly reserve — but she courted the society of distinguished men and 
prominent ladies — in other words those who had attracted the attention 
of select society — and only in the city could she come’into contact with 
that class to an extent beyond which seemed to her to be dull and 
insipid. 

Irene loved her family and her home at Melton, and her absence 
during her school life had only served to make all seem dearer -to her 
than ever, but this desire to be talked of and praised by people dis- 
tinguished in society circles had also come to her then, and when she 
returned to her village home a longing soon possessed her to be away again 
and mix with the busy world. She had learned to know and feel the 
true value of wealth and what it would bring her, and she felt sensible 
of the fact that no poor man would ever be happy with her as his wife, 
nor could she be happy with him, for it would certainly require a gen- 
tleman of considerable means and liberal in his expenditures to support 
her in the circle in which she felt herself called upon to move and be 
happy and contented. 

In order to make an alliance that would be both suitable to her and 
the man of her choice, she must place herself in a position where she 
would be most likely to meet such an individual, and to bury herself in 
her quite little village home, and accept the attentions of such young 
men as made their appearance in that out-of-way place, would be to 
bury all her ambition as well, and that idea was not to be tolerated for 
a moment. She urged that her parents had fitted her by education, 
cultivation and training for the responsible position to which she aspired 
in the society world and if it became necessary for her to forego the 
pleasure of living in her family circle to attain that position, why she 
could be no more to blame than her parents themselves. 

It had been Irene’s intention to remain at Melton during the sum- 
mer, and take up her residence in the autumn with the family of an aunt, 
her mother’s sister, who were about to move to Nashville from the 
eastern portion of the state. But the chagrin which she felt, and could 
scarcely avoid showing, at the connection which her father had made 
with a scapegrace and an outcast, as she firmly believed Fenton to be, 
decided her to visit her friends until such a time as her aunt and family 
should remove to Nashville, and then proceed to take up her residence 
with them, as she had been cordially invited to do. 


A dixip: gentleman. 


73 


So it was that young Fenton, on the most cordiah terms at all times 
with the Thornton household, had been a resident or Melton for some- 
thing over a year without ever having beheld the beautiful and coquett- 
ish grace of Irene Thornton. Irene had made but two visits to her 
home during all that time, of a few days each, and on both occasions 
Fenton had been absent from the county on legal business for the firm. 
The deliberate avoidance of him by Irene was of course unknown to 
Fenton, or even to her own family, unless it was probable that Elsie had 
some suspicion of the truth, although she never even whispered her sus- 
picions to anyone else. Sometimes in musing over his limited knowlege 
of the Thornton family, it would strike him as somewhat odd that Miss 
Thornton should treat her family so indifferently, especially when they 
would speak to him of her so kindly, dwelling oftentimes upon her 
graces and accomplishments. But he had very little time for reflections 
of this sort, and the mystery of her absence, if it puzzled him at all, con- 
tinued to remain unsatisfactorily answered. If anything had happened 
which would have led him to think for a moment that he was one of the 
principal causes of this constant seperation of daughter and family, he 
might in consequence have been greatly perplexed and troubled. He 
might even have taken such a step as would lead him to sever the part- 
nership between himself and his kind old benefactor and friend. But 
not the remotest idea of such a thing found its way into his vivid imagin- 
ation, and he went serenely on in the steady performance of his duties. 

An incident happened during this summer of Fenton’s residence at 
Melton which served to strengthen the ties which bound him to Judge 
Thornton’s family more than anything else could probably have done — 
an event which seemed trival enough to Fenton so far as he himself was 
was concerned, though without the share which he took therein would 
have caused untold grief to Judge Thornton and his amiable wife. 

Fenton was returning late one evening, after an absence of two or 
three days on business at a small town a few miles from Melton on the 
opposite side of the river. He had boarded the ferry boat with a few 
other passengers, and the boat had left its landing place and had nearly 
reached the middle of the stream, when a small Indian canoe or dugout, 
containing two young girls and two young men, or rather boys, was 
observed coming down the river toward the ferryboat- The canoe was 
a very light one, and quite unsafe even for a steady person to ride in. 


74 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


As it came within a few yards of the ferryboat, one of the girls, apar- 
ently not realizing the danger, leaned over too far toward one side and 
caused the canoe to give a lurch. This frightened her so that she 
quickly fell over into the water, upsetting the canoe and its occupants. 
One of the boys, on coming to the surface and being scarcely able to 
swim, struck out for the shore. The other boy happened to be a good 
swimmer, quickly seized hold of one of the girls, and caught hold of the 
upturned canoe, where he supported himself and his burden until assist- 
ance arrived. As soon as Fenton saw the party go over into the water 
he threw off his coat and hat and made a plunge, arriving at the spot 
just as the girl who had tipped over the canoe was sinking for the third 
time. He caught hold of her with one arm and made for the shore, 
only a short distance away, which he easily reached in safety. His sur- 
prise and thankfulness can be imagined when he laid the girl, nearly 
dead, upon the turf and recognized her as Elsie Thornton. Surely it 
seemed that providence had enabled him to do a great service for his 
kind-hearted friends, for what greater service could he have ever 
rendered than this? 

With proper assistance Fenton soon succeeded in restoring Elsie to 
consciousness, and obtaining a conveyance carried her to her father’s 
residence, where, with tears dimming their aged eyes, the parents joined 
in thanks for the service he had rendered them. 

The mere fact of jumping into the water and carrying the girl to 
the shore would have been considered a trifling feat to an excellent 
swimmer like Fenton, but after it was all over and he reflected how nar- 
rowly she escaped certain death, and the misery which it would have 
inflicted upon her loving parents, he was almost overpowered at the 
thought and it was several days afterward ere he regained his wonted 
composure. 

Of course the circumstance was the theme of conversation at Mel- 
ton for some time afterward, and many honest hearts warmed toward 
Fenton as they had never done before when their owners took him by 
the hand and congratulated him that he had been able to do so much 
for the lovely girl, whom the entire village was proud of and almost 
worshipped. The event was published in several of the country papers 
and even mention was made in one of the daily papers in the city of 
Nashville. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


75 


As for Elsie herself, always grateful and appreciative of the most 
insignificant service which anyone rendered to her, the inward bounds 
of mere friendship were forever passed between her and young Fenton. 
She had never possessed the love of a brother, but the regard in which 
she held Fenton from that time could only be likened by her to that of 
a sister for a brother. And Elsie was not content thus without a full 
expression of her feelings toward him, and she frankly seized the first 
opportunity of asking him if he would consent to receive her affection 
for him as she understood it to be. He assured her that he had not 
thought to gain such a wealth of affection by the performance of so 
simple a duty, but he nevertheless was deeply sensible of her kindness, 
and would endeavor to show his appreciation by claiming her as his de- 
voted sister ever after. 

Elsie had already acquainted her sister Irene of her unfortunate 
accident, taking upon herself the entire blame of persuading the others 
to cross the river in the canoe, and detailing every bit of information 
concerning Fenton’s connection with the event, together with such opin- 
ions as she had heard others express about his brave conduct. As has 
been suggested, Elsie believed that she knew more of the inwardness of 
her sister’s treatment of Fenton than the latter would have confessed to 
anyone, and for this reason she laid particular stress upon Fenton’s con- 
duct, and how he had endeared himself to all of them, in order that 
Irene might be brought to view him in a different light than she had 
done before and become sensible to the fact that she had cruelly mis- 
judged a really good and honest man. 

Irene’s answer to this pointed appeal, however, did not present 
much food for encouragement to Elsie. It said that the news of the 
accident had distressed her beyond measure, and she felt too thankful 
for her preservation to think of scolding her darling sister for her care- 
lessness, as perhaps she ought to have done, but she was compelled to 
take a somewhat different view of Mr. Fenton’s connection with the 
matter than the others seemed to do. While of course she felt grateful 
to him for the aid he rendered to Elsie, yet he had done no more than 
almost anyone would willingly have done, had they been able to swim. 
She hoped that as he had been the fortunate one to save her life, her 
father would discharge all obligations to him, so that Fenton could lay 
no further claim upon them for future favors. 


76 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


Such was the tone of Irene’s letter, and the cold, calculating method 
which she used in speaking of Fenton grated harshly upon Elsie’s feel- 
ings, and convinced her more strongly than ever that her sister had 
determined to harden her sympathies against all regard for his future 
welfare. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


77 



CHAPTER Vli. 

Irene’s letter to Elsie was intended to show a certain degree of dis- 
trust concerning the intentions of Fenton toward their family, notwith- 
standing the generous action he had performed. It was perfectly clear 
that she was unwilling to admit any mistaken idea upon her own part in 
regard to his original intentions in pressing himself upon her father’s 
especial notice. And yet when Irene reflected upon what Fenton had 
done, her heart softened not a little toward him, and the thought would 
constantly recur to her that she had but a frail excuse for forming the 
opinion of himself and his motives which she had done at the very first, 
and had persistently fanned into life ever since, Elsie had written to 
her time and again of how earnestly and with what intense zeal Fenton 
was pursuing his work, how her father constantly referred to his part- 
ner in terms of pride and confidence, and how the pressing and con- 
stantly increasing business ot the firm prevented Fenton from enjoying 
any pleasure or recreation outside of his duties. If, after the test of 
weeks and months, no further flaw could be found in his character than 
those eagerly picked out before she knew anything about him, what was 
the use of her haboring a dislike that no one else seemed to feel toward 
him, or even encouraged her in doing? 

Still, though she could not help feeling that she had made a very 
awkward and disagreeable mistake in treating him in the manner she had 
done, she could not discover that it would have made any great differ- 
ence to her even had she treated him otherwise. Certainly the circle of 
society in which she had fitted herself to move would have little in com- 
mon with the aspirations and future happiness of an insignificant village 


78 


A DIXIE gentleman. 


lawyer. He might be expected in course of time, if some other equally 
awkward and gawky uj^starts did not eclipse him in the race, to arrive at 
a point of more or less local distinction in Pike County, but it was 
scarcely possible that his name would ever pass the lips of fashionable 
dames and distinguished gentry inhabiting her sphere of society in the 
city of Nashville. 

Moreover, she looked forward to the possibility of a day, being set* 
tied into the regular groove of fashionable life after the manner of her 
present bright anticipations, installed as the mistress of a household of 
ample means and acknowledged importance, when she would present 
her beautiful sister Elsie to the gay world and enable her to obtain that 
homage and adulation which would in right belong to her as her own 
dearly beloved sister. With this possibility in view, she could not avoid 
pondering over the effect upon Elsie’s present life of her companionship 
with the young lawyer, and the fear seized upon Irene that, neglecting to 
look after the interests of Elsie at such a time, when thrown in the path- 
way of one who had saved her life, she might possibily form an attach- 
ment that would spoil the brilliant career which Irene had planned for 
her, and doom her for life to the insignificant circle which the wife of a 
village barrister must ever occupy. 

These- conflicting emotions of remorse consequent upon her treat- 
ment of Fenton and fears for the future prospects of Elsie resulted in a 
determination upon the part of Irene to visit her home in Melton, and 
remain there until sufficiently assured that no such danger as she appre- 
hended had any existence in fact, and then she would return to Nash- 
ville to take up again the pursuit of the conquest which would event- 
ually crown her the happiest of women. So it was that she arrived un- 
expectedly one evening in the early autumn at Melton by way of stage- 
coach, as the river was so low at that season of the year as to render 
steamboat navigation an impossiblity. 

On the day after Irene’s 'arrival. Judge Thornton mentioned the 
circumstance to his young partner, and desired that the latter should 
accompany him to tea that evening and join the family and a few other 
friends in a little quiet entertainment in behalf of his daughter. If the 
judge had ever given a moment’s thought to the strange fact that Irene 
and Fenton had never met each other during the year and a half of part- 
nership, he did not speak of the matter, and it was certainly most prob- 


A DIXIE gentleman. 


79 


able that it had never occurred to him. If anyone ever dreamed that 
Judge Thornton had any designs affecting Fenton’s future matrimonal 
prospects such person must assuredly have heen afflicted with an extreme 
case of indigestion. The only thought the judge gave to Fenton’s fu- 
ture career was in relation to the duties to his country which would 
devolve upon him as a great statesman, and his whole attention was 
occupied in fitting him for such a career without creating the suspicions 
of the young man himself or his acquaintances. From the very first 
the judge harbored the belief that he saw the young man’s destiny lying 
clearly before him, and all the indications along the way thus far during 
their partnership had but tended to confirm that belief. 

Fenton accepted the judge’s hospitable invitation without hesitation 
or embarrassment. He had often felt some little curiosity regarding 
Irene, of whom he had heard them speak so much, and had even 
wondered to himself how it happened that he had never met her, and 
beyond that point it could not be said that he looked upon the tea party 
as in any way an unusual circumstance. And, being extremely busy 
with the intricate points of a very stubborn lawsuit on that day, he gave 
no thought to the evening engagement until the hour for tea had arrived, 
when he threw off his office coat, smoothed down his chesnut curls with 
a quick stroke or two of the brush, donned his conventional broadcloth 
and stiff hat, and set out to accompany the judge. 

Elsie, without acquainting Irene of the fact, had requested her father 
that morning to invite Fenton to tea, and consequently his arrival in 
company with the judge was not unexpected save by Irene, who, on 
seeing two gentlemen approach the house, inquired who the young man 
was. Being informed that it was Mr. Fenton, she expressed her disap- 
probation of the visit by an ejaculation that caused Mrs. Thornton to 
turn upon her a look of wondering inquiry as though she possibly had 
not heard aright, but nothing more was said, as just then the two men 
came into the room and Elsie presented Fenton to her sister. 

Irene assumed a look of great condescension, and after acknowledg- 
ing the hit reduction as if it was to her a most unimportant circumstance, 
at once surprised the rest of her family and invited friends by referring 
to the service he had performed for Elsie, and expressing the hope that 
her father had not forgotten to pay him a suitable amount in compen- 
sation. Irene had certainly studied this style of expressing her obliga- 


8o 


A DIXIE GENTLExMAN. 


tions to Fenton for the purpose of evincing her superiority as well as 
that of her family to the attainment of whatever aspirations he might 
have in view. The effect produced upon Fenton by this rather coarse 
speech, as interpreted, by Irene gave her much satisfaction. His first 
look was that of utter astonishment, which quickly changed into one of 
indignant resentment, but no sooner did he attempt to speak than his 
features resumed their wonted calm and composed expression, and in his 
usual tones he assured her that she greatly mistook his nature if she 
supposed for a moment that he could accept of any other compensation 
for so t rival a sacriffce as he had made than that which had been be- 
stowed upon him long before he had shown himself worthy. 

Irene had accomplished her object — the humiliation of Fenton — 
though it forced her to depart from her usual ladylike demeanor. Her 
conscience urged her to atone in some way for the slight she had sought 
to cast upon the motives of Fenton, but the demands of society re- 
strained her. She had taught him his proper station so far as her im- 
mediate family was concerned, and she felt sure that fashionable society - 
which she had courted would applaud her for the act. Her manner 
toward him during the remainder of the evening was very gi-acious and 
condescending, and at times she appeared to the greatest possible advan- 
tage, beautiful, charming and accomplished. She bewildered young 
Fenton, who though at times that he had never seen one half so lovely, 
and yet he could not forget the words with which she had greeted him. 
What could their meaning be? What reason had led her to impugn his 
unselfish act as being prompted by dishonorable motives? There 
seemed to be some mystery clinging to her demeanor toward him which 
he could not fathom, and the more he pondered over the matter the 
more troubled he became. 

The evening wore pleasantly on for all save Fenton, and when the 
hour came for seperation, only two of the parly had noted the perplexed 
look which had gradually settled upon his conntenance. Those two 
were Irene and Elsie. This unusual change in his appearance smote 
upon the warm heart of little Elsie. While she was certain that she 
thoroughly understood Irene’s motive for her treatment of Fenton, yet 
she could not but deeply sympathize with him, and but for the exposi- 
tion of her sister’s selfishness, she would have relieved him by a full ex- 
planation at once, and fully exonrated him from mercenary motives by 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


8i 


announcing to the entire company the relation which she and Fenton 
held by agreement toward each other. Painful as it was to her, how- 
ever, she maintained perfect silence upon the subject, simply endeavor- 
ing to encourage Fenton with a few words, inaudiable to the rest, ex- 
pressive of the complete trust and confidence which she reposed in him. 

As for Irene, she felt somehow that she had conquered over a foe 
long fought against, and, quitely wrapped up in consciousness of her 
victory, she watched very complacently the gathering gloom over- 
spreading the features of her victim, and as Fenton wended his way 
homewards, perplexed and troubled in his thoughts, she retired to her 
couch thoroughly satisfied with the first lesson she had imparted to the 
youthful aspirant, and resolved on the morrow to sound the depth of af- 
fection felt toward him by her lovely sister. She was forced to admit to 
herself that young Fenton had surprised her in his dignified and compos- 
ed appearance. Though he was certainly unused to the whims which 
fashion imposed upon the circles in which she aspired to shine as a bril- 
liant star, yet his manners were courtly and self-possessed, and his speech 
betoken an easy refinement and polish that was unassumed and perfectly 
natural. He was hansome — far more so, indeed, than many of the tailor- 
made models she had observed in society — and that he was a perfect gentle- 
man was plainly visible to the most inexperienced eye. All this Irene 
had observed with a critical taste, while endeavoring to discover in his 
appearance some unpardonable fault, and yet she did not once relax in 
her determination to hold him far beneath her and her loved ones. Cer- 
tainly there was some fault to be found in him, if she had only a proper 
opportunity? Had he not betrayed his cousins for some mercenary mo- 
tive, and had not Mr. Joran told her to beware of him, and had not Mr. 
Joran risen to the dignity of a congressman? Plainly Fenton had no as- 
pirations above those of a common village lawyer, and that was warrant 
enough to condemn him in her eyes. 

After breakfast on the morning following the tea party. Judge 
Thornton having left the house on his way to the office, Irene gently pul- 
led her sister into the libraray, and seating her in her father’s large arm- 
chair, sat down on a stool opposite her. She began by saying she want- 
ed to know how many sweethearts Elsie had encouraged since she had 
been away from home. Elsie playfully denied that she had any sweet- 
hearts at all, and said that she had to much studying to do to think of 
sweethearts. 


82 


A DIXIE GExXTLEMAN. 


But Irene had a purpose in view in asking the question, and was not to 
be put off so easily. After pressing the question again and again, re- 
ceiving the same answer, she told Elsie that she had been led to think 
by the manner in which she had written to her concerning a certain 
young gentleman who had saved her from drowning that she had enter- 
tained some decided preferences in that direction, 

“You mean Mr*. Fenton?” asked Elsie wonderingly. 

“Of course I do,” said Irene. “At least I can remember no 
other young. man who has had the honor of saving you from drowning.” 

“But I am astonished at you asking such a question,” answered 
Elsie 

“Well, you know it is nothing extraordinary, according to novels, 
for a maiden to fall in love with her rescuer, get married and live happily 
ever after.” 

Elsie’s countenance still held a wondering expression, as she felt 
certain that her sister had some deeper object than she had yet allowed 
to appear upon the surface, though she was equally certain that it boded 
no good toward Fenton. 

“Mr Fenton has always treated me with the greatest of kindness, 
though I am certain he looks upon me as a mere child,” she ventured, 

“But you are nearly sixteen, and a child no longer,” Irene argued. 
“Besides, you seemed to be so wrapped up in him in your letter that I 
was led to believe you entertained some affection for him, and that prob- 
ably your affection was returned by him.” 

The thought occured to Elsie that an attempt to conceal anything 
that had passed between her and Fenton might do him a serious injury, 
and rather than do that it might be best for her to give her sister a full 
explanation, which would certainly exculpate him from any desire to en- 
gage her affections? She acted upon this idea, without giving it serious 
reflection, though she regretted doing so for a long time afterward. 

“I was indeed very grateful to him,” she explained to Irene, “and 
felt that nothing that I could do would repay him for risking his own 
life to save mine. I have always regarded him as a perfect gentleman, 
and was really sorry that you had spoken of him to papa as you did once» 
and that you went away without seeing him. I felt sometimes that you 
were slighting him intentionally, though I was sure you could not do so 
if you had only known what a njee gentleman he really was. Somehow 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


83 


I felt that Mr. Joran was jealous of him when he told you that Mr. P'en- 
ton \s4as only trying to get papa’s money, or something of that kind. 
And when he jumped in the river and saved me, I was convinced that he 
was entirely unselfish and thought a good deal more of others than he 
did of money or himself either. I was anxious for you to think well of 
him, and possibly you might learn to love each other, that I wrote to 
you in the manner that I did. And I felt so certain that you would love 
him that he began to seem like a brother to me. I wanted so much to 
do something for him, so that he would know how much we were inter- 
ested in him, that I finally ventured to ask him if he would be my broth- 
er, as I felt like a sister toward him. He complied with my request 
and oh, he has treated me so very kind ever since, and I have tried to 
treat him as if he were really my brother. And now that I have told 
you all, I want to ask you a question? Last night he was greatly per- 
plexed at the manner in which you received him, and quite indignant at 
your saying he ought to be paid for saving my life. I was very much 
surprised that you should wound his feelings by making such a remark, 
and I can see no reason for it. Why did you speak in that way?” 

“Well, did I ever?” exclaimed Irene. “Just to think that you are 
scolding your own sister for mistreating your adopted brother! I am 
sure I never suspicioned you were brother and sister or I should have 
been more careful in my remarks.” And Irene curled her lip with a 
sneer. 

“But" you have not answered my question,” presisted Elsie, pre- 
tending not to notice her sisters manner of speaking. 

“Well, then I will inform you,” said Irene rather frigidly, “that I 
have no affection to waste upon a young upstart of a nobody, simply 
because he happens to be fortunate enough to save your life. I am 
seeking'a higher prize than a little village lawyer, and I decline to ac- 
cept the engagement you have so kindly marked out for me. And I 
hope, as you are to finish your studies in Nashville this winter, that you 
will have some of those silly notions brushed out of your foolish little 
head. At least I would advise you to give up that brother and sister 
nonsense at once, as you will certainly have cause to be heartily 
ashamed of it when you get to be a belle in society circles.” 

So saying Irene marched proudly out of the room, leaving her poor 
crestfallen sister to her own reflections, and trying hard to restrain the 


84 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


indignant tears which moistened her eyes and threatened to bathe her 
cheeks in a flood. 

“Irene has changed so much since she left Melton,” pondered Elsie 
to herself; “she scarcely seems like a sister any more.’ She has grown 
so proud and different that I wonder sometimes whether she loves us 
here at home. She thinks I will grow like her when I get to Nashville, 
but I am sure I never can. At least I hope that I shall never think less 
of Mr. Fenton because he is poor and unknown to society. I know he 
is good and kind as a man can be, and it seems strange that Irene dis- 
likes him so much — .” 

A ring of the door bell brought Elsie to her feet, and, going into 
the hall, she was pleased to greet a young man of the village and a life- 
long, school friend, Christopher Engle, generally known as “Chris.” 
This young man. or rather boy, was just fifteen years of age, and the son 
of a Melton merchant named Isaac Engle. Elsie gave Chris her hand 
by way of welcome, and ushered him into the library, where he at once 
explained the object of his visit to be for the purpose of bidding farewell 
to the family, as he was about to leave home for a year’s absence at an 
eastern college. Elsie expressed her regrets at having to part with her 
school friend, but as she would also leave Melton in a few days to attend 
school in Nashville, of course the parting would have to come then at all 
events. She then called her mother and Irene, who gave him many 
words of encouragement in his future course, as they felt certain that he 
had a very useful life before him, and hoped that he would use wisely 
the means which providence had placed at his command. 

In order to make this parting more intelligible to the reader, let us 
inquire a little into the history of events which brought it about, refer- 
ring more particularly to the life of Chris Engle’s father. 

Isaac Engle was a native of Germany, and had emigrated to Ameri- 
ca when quite a young man. Arriving in the city of New York, he 
found himself in destitute circumstances, unable to speak a word of Eng- 
lish, and depending upon the aid of two or three German friends for the 
bare necessities of life. He sought everywhere for employment, but 
nothing came to hand, and at last wearying of further fruitless search in 
that great metropolis, he made his way on foot to Boston, begging for 
employment to pay for his food while on the way. After a days sojourn 
in that stirring city, he was fortunate enough to find employment as a 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


85 


teamster, by which in a few month’s time he had managed to save a sum 
of money sufficient, as he thought, to carry out a plan that he had revolv- 
ed in his mind while on his waythither from New York. One morning 
he surprised his employer, who had shown considerable liking for him be- 
cause of his industrious habits by tendering his resignation as a teamster 
and informing him that he intended to leave Boston at once and start 
for the western States. His employer endeavored to prevail upon him 
to stay a^ while longer at least, and told him that some better employ- 
ment might be found for him in a short time. But Isaac had made up 
his mind, and he was not to be dissuaded from his purpose. On that 
very day he trudged out of Boston, with a little bundle of clothing swung 
over his shoulder, aud kept his face turned toward the setting sun for 
many a long, weary mile. He had no intention of walking the entire 
distance, however, and when he arrived at the foot of the Alleghanies he 
stopped at a’ railway station and purchased a ticket that passed him over 
the dizzy heights in safety and left them far away behind him. He 
rode on and on, as long as his ticket remained in his possession, and final- 
ly when the conductor took it up, and told him that his ride would termi- 
nate at the next station, Isaac smiled in a self satisfied way, reaching for 
his bundle as the train slackened its speed, and when it stopped at the sta- 
tion he stepped to the ground and marched off down the track as uncon- 
cernedly as if he lived only a short distance away. Thus he went on day 
after day, scarcely pausing at the towns and villiages which lay in his 
way until he arrived at Cincinnati, Here he stoped to rest for a few 
days, and made preparations for beginning the life which lay before him, 
pursuing his struggle with the English language, and investing his savings 
in various articles of merchandise suitable for a peddler’s pack, for this 
was the calling he had resolved upon to increase the earnings which he 
had saved up at Boston. 

When fully prepared to resume his journey, it was found that his 
face was no longer turned toward the setting sun, but looked rather to- 
ward the soft skies and bamy air of the sunny south. By the time he 
reached the southern city of Louisville, his stock of wares was more than 
half exhausted, having been quite fortunate in his sales while on the way. 
Of course he was highly elated at the bright prospects which stretched 
before him, and unhesitatingly invested all his means in replenishing and 
increasing his stock, after which he kept steadily on his way to the south. 


86 


A DIXIK GENTLEMAN. 


Those who have read and heard much — and who has not? — of the last 
days of the great rebellion, when the Johnny rebs dispersed to dull music 
and the boys in blue went marching ho'me, know something of the law- 
lessness, turmoil and trouble which each section in the border States ex- 
perienced at that time; when every individual was compelled to look af- 
ter the interests of number one, and misdemeanors of almost every de- 
scription were committed openly, and the perpetrators generally allowed 
to go scot free, the victim being considered lucky indeed if he was just 
as fortunate. 

It was just at this period when Isaac Engle was pursuing his way 
southward in he guise of a peddler, One evening just about dusk, 
while marching along under his burden, his head full of plans for turn- 
ing over his increasing capital, and thinking but little of future worldly 
troubles, he was stopped by a rough, drunken squad of sdldiers, who 
were so dressed in mixed colors of blue and gray that it would have been 
difficult to teli to which army they had belonged. They demanded of 
Isaac that he should unpack his wares for their inspection, which demand 
he at once complied with, although he entertained serious doubts as to 
the propriety of doing so. No sooner did the gang of roughs get a 
glimpse of the stock of goods, some of which were possibly of use to 
them, than they immedately began to appropriate them and fill their 
pockets, At sight of this unlawful proceeding Isaac at once showed 
fight, though there were far to many against one to yield any prospect 
whatsoever of his coming out victorious. In briefer time than it re- 
quires to describe it, he was knocked over senseless by a blow from some 
heavy weapon. The marauders then rifled his pockets of everything they 
contained and carried off the entire contents of his bundle, leaving Isaac 
stretched upon the ground in what they supposed to be a dying condition. 

After a considerable length of time he awoke to consciousness and 
endeavored to regain his feet, but found that he was so stiff and sore that 
he could scarcely stand. When he came to fully realize his loss, having 
searched for his bundle and felt in his empty pockets, he was rendered 
nearly desperate at what he then believed to be his utterly helpless con- 
dition, but something of his former determination remained to him yet 
and this enabled him to drag himself along the road until he reached a 
friendly farmhouse. In the best language he could command he made 
his condition known to the owner, and begged for a night’s lodging. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


87 


Fortunately for Isaac, he had happened into theabode of a good Samari- 
tan, who not only fed and cared for him during that night, but insisted 
on his remaining there until he felt able to travel without pain. The 
good constitution which was not the least inheritance of Isaac soon re- 
stored him, and in a couple of days more he set out again to make his 
way to the city of Nashville, which was not very far distant. 

The reader can now afford to pass over Isaac’s brief struggles at 
Nashville, where he fell in with a former acquaintance from the 
old country across the sea, and it may be supposed put him in the way 
of supplying himself with an entire new stock of peddlers’ goods. It 
has even been rumored that the only visible supply of goods which he 
carried out of the city of Nashville consisted of a pair of men’s hose, 
but this cannot be vouched for by the writer. Really the only part of 
his history definitely known the relator after Isaac had left Nashville 
concerns his rambles up and down the beautiful hills and valleys of Pike 
County. Here he struggled .along for several months, and constantly 
added to his small capital by industry and frugal habits. 

One warm summer’s day Isaac depoisted his heavy pack of mer- 
chandise at the door of a well-to-do farmer residing only a few miles 
out of Melton, and knocking at the side of an open door, sat himself 
down upon the step to await an answer. In a few moments there trip- 
ped along the hall a charming young lady of about seventeen years, the 
farmer’s only daughter. At first she was inclined to be vexed to find 
that her visitor was only a poor pack-peddler, and told him that he 
might as well take himself off, as they did not stand in need of a solitary 
article which his pack contained. But something in the weary manner 
wtih which he arose from his seat and prepared to resume his, burden 
caused the young lady to recover her naturally cheerful disposition, and 
she graciously informed him that he might allow her to examine his 
goods, and see if there was anything worth buying, though she could not 
see the need of moving a whole store around the country on one’s back 
when there were so many houses to keep them in. 

Now Isaac understood very little of the young ladies intended satire, 
but he comprehended enough to know that she would probably buy 
something, and accordingly opened up his exhibition. The conversation 
which followed was carried on in the greater part by means of nods and 
hakes of the head, deep gutterals, exclamation points, etc., which thq 


88 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


reader can better understand by observing a Dutch marketman talking 
to an English housekeeper, who neither knows anything about or care to 
understand each other’s language. 

The result of the various transactions carried on at the farmer’s 
door on that summer afternoon must have been highly satislactory to the 
young German, for only a few days thereafter he was again seen to 
knock at the same farmhouse door, quietly take his seat upon the identi- 
cal step he had previously occupied, and proceed to look as placidly con- 
tented as if he knew that he was going to dispose of his entire pack 
without venturing farther. But this time his knock at the door was an- 
swered by a very different sort of person from his former customer, be- 
ing no other than that young lady’s mother who told him that if he did 
not take himself away from there without delay she would consult the 
moving powers of a large canine at the rear of the house. 

Isaac did not wait for a second command to go, but started at once, 
and had reached the safe side of the yard gate, when he was suddenly 
confronted by the young lady who treated him so graciously on his form- 
er visit. She greeted the young road merchant quite cordially, and 
laughed heartly when he had signified the cause of his sudden and percip- 
itate retreat from the farmhouse door. The young lady requested him 
to return to the house with her and she would endeavor to mollify her 
mother and bring about a change of her demeanor toward him. He 
readily accompanied her, and she succeeded in fulfilling her promise so 
far as her mother was concerned. 

Young Isaac had skillfully contrived to make his appearance upon 
this occasion just prior to the middle of the day, and somehow managed 
to protraet his visit until the bell sounded for dinner. Being invited to 
join the family at the table, he readily consented, and thus accomplished 
this apparently small object just as he always accomplished everything 
that he undertook, for it seemed that he had desired an opportunity to 
meet with the entire household. He was treated with cordiality and re- 
spect by each menr.ber thereof, and the rememberance of this visit did 
not fade from the youthful emigrant’s nnnd for many a long day after- 
ward, if indeed the weakness of old age entirely effaced it. 

The name of Isaac Engle soon became a very familiar one to the 
people of Pike County, and he so prospered in business that he was ere 
long enabled to doff forever his peddler’s pack and set up a s'tore for him- 


A DiXIE GENTLEMAN. 


89 


self. He rapidly learned to speak very fair English, though still retain- 
ing a strong German accent, and within one year after he had first ap- 
peared at the farmhouse door he had woed and won the farmer’s charm- 
ing daughter for his wife. And if business had prospered with him be- 
fore his marriage, wealth began literally to shower upon him afterward. 
In a very few years after his advent he was known and recognized by all 
as the wealthiest citizen of Pike County, and indeed for many counties 
around, and at the period of our story he was the happy possessor of 
three children, one of whom, Chris, was quite a handsome youth, far ad- 
vanced in his studies and quite intelligent for his age, giving promise 
of inheriting many of the persevering and successful traits of his father. 

Chris was one of the boys who had been in the boat with Elsie 
Thornton when she came so near losing her life, and had shown true cour- 
age by risking his life to save that of the other drowning girl. The 
Thornton family had always felt proud of him as did also all of the 
other villagers, and this circumstance at the river had rendered him par- 
ticularly dear to Elsie, who felt keen pain at seeing him leave the old 
place for companionship among utter strangers. Besides this it must 
be admitted that if any person had laid a strong claim upon the affections 
of Elsie’s heart, in a lover-like way, it certainly was Chris Engle, though 
she declared she would not admit the possibility of such an idea at her 
time of life, and perhaps it was 'only the tearing asunder of old school 
ties that caused her young heart to ache so on that day. 


go 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

It may be correctly surmised that the impressions which Fenton 
had received concerning the character of Irene Thornton were very con- 
flicting. But the expressions of sympathy which Elsie had managed to 
convey to him had enabled him to reach at least one definite conclusion, 
without danger of being very far in the wrong, and that was that Irene 
and Elsie held a decided difference of opinion in relation to his own mo- 
tives, which difference was in all probability extended to the rest of the 
family. It was perfectly clear to him that Irene desired her family to 
consider him as far beneath them in the way of social distinction, and 
he had not the least doubt that the question had at some time or other 
been argued between them pro and con. The chief difficulty in his 
mind, however, was to arrive at Irene’s reason for showing this con- 
temptuous opinion to him so plainly. He knew that she disliked him 
now, but what object could she have in showing her dislike in the corase 
manner in which she did? 

During his residence at Melton, Fenton had never given anyone rea- 
son to think that he entertained any matrimonial aspirations. At the 
few entertainments which he had attended he treated all young ladies 
with the same defferential politeness and respect. Just how many had 
been the traps set for him with which to entangle his affections it would 
be difficult to guess, but as yet he had fallen a victim to none of them, 
and so far in his busy, generous, self-sacrificing life he was heart-whole 
and fancy free. 

Why, then, did Irene seek to accuse him of selfish and mercenary 
motives? He could think of nothing he had done in all his lifetime to 
bring such a discredit to his character. If such a charge or insinuation 
or aspersion — or whatever it might be called — had been made by anyone 
except a member of the Thornton household, he would hardly have 


A DIXIE gentleman. 


9 * 


given the matter a second thought, but coming as it did from the very 
bosom of a family -whom he had learned to reverence and respect was 
like an unexpected blow that, not having foreseen, he was totally unpre- 
pared to avoid. 

For several days after the tea party Fenton kept on turning the 
matter over in his mind, and finally decided that he could take no step 
but to pursue the plain, straightforward way before him, and let other 
matters take their own course. He could not bring himself to the idea 
of approaching Judge Thornton upon the subject, since he doubted seri- 
ously whether the old gentleman had ever heard his daughter express 
any opinion whatsoever regarding himself, and would thus possibly mag- 
nify the importance of the whole affair more than it deserved. Thus 
Fenton resolved to allow Irene to hold her own opinions regarding him 
without attempting to controvert them, thinking that possibly some fu- 
ture events now unknown to him would set the whole matter right. 

And so when Fenton met Irene and Elsie in the village a few days 
afterward, he greeted them alike cordially and accompanied them home 
as if they had been lifelong friends. While he noticed that Elsie ap- 
peared somewhat more embarrassed than formerly, yet Irene chatted as 
gaily about Melton gossip in general as if she had never given more than 
a second fleeting thought to the welfare of young Fenton or her father’s 
connection with him. 

For several days afterward he applied himself diligently to his of- 
fice duties, which were unusually pressing just then, and had given little 
or no thought to the events which had transpired in connection with the 
judge’s family. Sitting at his desk one morning looking over some refer- 
ences which concerned a case then in progress at court, his attention was 
attracted to a small negro boy entering the office door, bearing in his 
black hand a dainty perfumed note. Taking it from the boy’s hand, 
Fenton saw that it was directed to himself, and opening it read the fol- 
lowing: 

“Mr. Fenton — Dear Brother: This is to inform you that Irene 
and myself leave this morning by the stage-coach for Nashville, where I 
am to attend school this winter. I wanted to say farewell to you so 
badly, but you have been very busy I know, and Irene advised me not to 
disturb you, as she said you would doubtless call again before we left 
Melton. Won’t you think sometimes of the little sister that is far 
away? Elsie.” 


92 


A DIXIE GETLEMAN. 


Possibly Fenton was not aware of his great presumption as he kiss*' 
ed the dainty little note and locked it in his desk, and if any one had ac- 
cused him of heaving a sigh of regret, he would doubtless have manfully 
acknowledged that his heart was full of regret, but was not consci- 
ous that he had sighed. Truly for once Fenton was both sad and sor- 
rowful, for he had felt a keen disapoinlment at reading the note. He 
had been told by Judge Thornton that Irene and her sister would go to 
Nashville in a few days, and had intended to call that very evening, and 
accordingly was unprepared for their sudden departure. He thought 
with what strangeness and yet how deeply the sisterly offices of little 
Elsie had gained upon his affection. How comforting to his loneliness at 
the office were the many little tokens of friendship which she had be- 
stowed upon him. And now as he took up his book to read, how pre- 
sistently her bright, laughing eyes kept darting in between the lines, and 
followed by a pair of rosy lips that appeared to keep on inviting him to 
kiss them away. Oh, Elsie, you little elf, why do you insist on teasing 
him so? Pshaw! he could not read, his mind was not clear this morning. 
He must have time to think. He would quit the office, and take a 
long walk. This would compose his mind when nothing else would. 

Once out in the streets, and walking along at a rate as though 
business of the utmost importance was urging him on, he breathed more 
freely. But what overpowering feeling was it that rendered him so un- 
easy in spite of his self-assurance? Could it be possible that he really 
felt lonely, with great cares of business urging him to constant un- 
flagging action? No, it could not be that — and yet — it must be true — 
he was already missing Elsie. How often he had been used of late to 
go and chat with Elsie and her mother for an hour or so. He had even 
wondered to himself as the desire to cultivate this habit grew upon him. 
Now he began to realize the light that attracted him to the Thornton 
mansion as he had never done before. It was no longer there. Yes, he 
saw his object more clearly now. How he had grown to love her quiet, 
maidenly greeting, and to watch her eyes as they sparkled with pleasure 
at his approach. What music he had heard in the merry jingling of her 
laughter. What consolation she would tender him when he met with 
little reverses— and yet he had never thought of it all before. It had 
come to him sometimes like a disjointed, broken sentence, but he had 
never grasped its full meaning. No, he had never missed Elsie before 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


93 


that day, and that very hour, for she was always near him in his 
thoughts and always waiting just where he expected to find her. But 
now she was gone — and with her had fled a sense of quiet, peace and 
comfort leaving — in its stead an aching, empty void in his heart. Was 
it true? Oh, how could he longer doubt it now? Yes, yes, he loved 
Elsie as he had loved no other woman in his life. He now understood 
what life meant without her presence. The very thought appalled and 
unmanned him for awhile. His life had never appeared to be partic- 
ularly desolate before, but now it seemed utterly blank and impossible, 
with no hope to lead him onward save the cheer that came from Elsie. 

When Fenton at last brought himself to a full and complete knowledge 
of the state of his own feelings, his mind began to return to a reasonable 
condition, and he gradually became his own true self again. At first he 
was inclined t o blame himself for not attempting to analyze his feelings 
long before, but after consideration he concluded that it was a fortunate 
thing for both Elsie and himself that he had not done so. He did not 
believe -that she looked upon him with any other, than a sisterly af- 
fection, and indeed he regarded her age as entirely to young to form a 
different attachment. She had not finished her studies, and her mind 
should be perfectly free from the embarassment consequent upon th^ 
confession he doubtless would have made had he realized the depth of 
his love for her previously. 

There were other considerations over which Fenton pondered 
frequently as he now devoted himself more laboriously than ever to hjs 
work. He secretly apprehended that Irene had used her wits in prevent- 
ing Elsie from communicating with him previous to her departure for 
Nashville, and if he was not mistaken in this surmise, then he had reason 
to believe that Irene would oppose his suit and endeavor to prejudice 
Elsie against him, especially so long as he remained in his present somer 
what dependent position toward Judge Thornton. These reflections 
though tinged with a little bitterness at the injustice of Irene, had the 
effect of bringing out all the latent energy which he possessed, resolving 
mentally over and over again that he would do his utmost to rise in his 
profession, and if possible attain a position that could not fail to com- 
mand even the respect and homage of the proud and haughty Irene. 

During the year of Elsie’s absence at Nashville Fenton heard of 
her or from her only when she would kindly remember him in letters tq 


94 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


her parents, by whom he would return the same gentle assurance of his 
regard. It was no easy matter to retain his self control on some of these 
occasions, when in the presence of the judge or Mrs. Thornton. He 
longed to acquaint them with his deep, overflowing love for Elsie, and 
gain their permission to seek her love in return. But he felt that the 
time had not yet arrived, and he must be patient if he hoped to win 
such a prize. 

It was about this time that the rumor reached Fenton concerning 
the intention of Judge Thornton to again enter the field as a candidate 
for congressional honors. He and the old judge had often, when alone 
in their office, discussed the disgraceful manner in which Congressman 
Joran was representing the Eighth congressional district, and the great 
amount of dissatisfaction which his course had created among his con- 
stituents. The judge had predicted from the first that one or two terms 
in congress would be sufficient to convince the people of Joran’s inabil- 
ity to represent them properly, which of course had left some impression 
upon Fenton, and caused random conjecture as to who Joran’s successor 
was likely to be. But if the judge had entertained any idea of entering 
the field, he had most successfully concealed it from his partner, who 
was considerably astonished to hear that the rumor had attained quite a 
wide circulation. 

Fenton happened to be away from home when he heard this piece 
of news, and had been asked whether or not he could verify its truth. 
Of course he replied that he knew nothing whatever about the matter, 
but immediately resolved on posting himself in regard to it as soon as 
he should reach Melton. When he arrived there a day or so later, and 
after discussing some business mattejs with the judge, he spoke to him 
about the rumor he had heard and gave the answer he had made to his 
questioner. 

The judge quietly removed his spectacles, and after some apparent 
hesitation in his manner, acknowledged that he had supposed some such 
rumor was in active circulation, judging from questions which had been 
put to him by a number of his acquaintances, and, in fact, he had 
expected something of the kind when he had emerged from his retire- 
ment, but the rumor was entirely unauthorized by anything that he had 
said or even thought, for he was certainly too far advanced in life to 
again undertake the active duties of public office even if he desired to 


A DfXIK GENTLEMAN. 


95 


absent himself from his home, which he could not bear the idea of 
doing. 

He went on to say, however, that he had advised with a number of 
prominent republicans throughout the district in regard to the propriety 
of putting forth a candidate to represent their party in opposition to 
Congressman Joran at his second election, but it had -been decided best 
to wait until he had served another term and then determine what was 
most expedient for them to do, as they did not wish to run any great 
risk at that time in their struggle to defeat him and relegate him to pri- 
vate life ever after. 

The judge further informed Fenton that in his opinion, it would be 
foolish for the republicans to attempt to push their candidate through at 
the next election, because it would only have the effect of arraying a large 
element in the democratic ranks against them who were now more than 
friendly toward them, and that the best plan would be to select some 
democrat with liberal views, and let the republicans join hands with 
this friendly element of the democracy in securing his election and the 
defeat of Joran. 

Judge Thornton did not exactly confess the whole truth to Fenton 
in making this last remark, but lie did it in order to obtain Fenton’s 
views in regal'd to the whole situation. He could have told Fenton 
further that the liberal democrat referred to had already been selected 
in his own mind, and he was preparing to consult some of his republican 
friends as to their opinions concerning his choice at an early day. 
However, the judge did not regard Fenton as the person to consult 
about the matter, and so dropped that part of the subject altogether. 
Fenton entirely agreed with the soundness of the judge’s plan for unit- 
ing the two parties in the the congressional struggle, and hoped it would 
be carried to a successful termination, He even went so far as to as- 
sure the judge that if his services were called into requisition in behalf 
of the effort to unite the parties, he would gladly do all in his power to 
assist them. 

After assuring Fenton that he felt certain that they should both 
agree in their opinions upon this subject, as in fact they did upon almost 
any subject, he thanked him for* hisi offer of assistance, said they 
would undoubtedly accept of his services, and desired him to give more 
of his time and attention to the consideration of important political mat- 


96 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


ters, as the day might possibly come when he would find such labor of 
great use to him, 

Fenton had attempted to make but very few arguments before a 
jury in the many cases in which he and the judge had been interested 
during the two or three years of his practice, for his part cf the work 
was usually to hunt up testimony and look over references to various 
points of law bearing upon a case, while the judge would conduct the 
examination of the witnesses and argue the cause of their clients before 
the jury. But on those few occasions when Fenton arose to make a 
speech in a lawsuit, he had always attracted widespread attention, and 
when it had become previously known that he was going to speak the 
courtroom was invariably filled to overflowing. It was like listening 
to rich music to hear his deep, sonorous, yet well-modulated voice. 
His words were chosen with a rare and quick perception of their pro- 
priety, and his sentences were rendered in a clear, distinct and earnest 
tone. He had a most perfect command of the art of delivery, and 
never for a single moment allowed the heat of an argument or zeal for 
his cause to confuse his judgement. It was believed by many that this 
ability which he possessed in a remarkable degree to hold in check such 
heats of passion as are quite common to barristers would render him a 
dangerous adversary in any sort of a debate. While able to think 
clearly and cooly calculate the weak points of every question, he was yet 
able to select the choicest phrase and deliver it with a keen and power- 
ful effect. 

Possibly one of the greatest contributors to his ability in that re- 
spect was the fact of his abstinence from the use of all dangerous stimu- 
lants. This was doubtless more noticeable in Fenton for the reason 
that, with the exception of Judge Thornton, there were but few lawyers 
within the limits of their practice who did not indulge heartily in the 
use of intoxicating liquors. The mind of Fenton was always the 
same, and therefore he had no need to rely upon anything but the force 
of habit in reasoning from cause to effect. 

While the powerful effect of Fenton’s eloquence was admitted by 
all who had enjoyed an opportunity of hearing him, yet he had never 
seemed to crave notoriety as a public speaker, and it was accordingly 
with much difficulty that the Judge had sometimes prevailed upon him 
to undertake an argument before a jury. In consequence of backward* 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


97 


ness in this respect comparatively few people thoughout the counties 
where they had practiced had ever heard him speak, although his ac- 
quaintance was rapidly extending wherever he went on account of his 
never-failing cheerful disposition and many sociable qualities. When 
away from home his greatest delight seemed to be to extend his acquain- 
tance, when not actively engaged at his work, in the Court-room, with 
anybody and every body who happened to come in his way. He possess- 
ed a rare faculty for remembering names and faces, and the result was in 
the course of his few years’ traveling up and down the district, that there 
was scarcely a man, woman or child, white or black, whom he*was un- 
able to address by name, and many of these persons, encouraged by his 
kind voice and pleasant words, were wont to address him familiarly as 
though he were an old acquaintance of many year’s standing. More 
than that, he had been often times discovered sperking words of smypathy 
and encouragement to needy persons seeking his advice, and a consider- 
able portion of his income silently found its way into the pockets of indi- 
viduals who appealed to him in their troubles. Many an old darkey, 
with a large family depending upon his almost helpless hands, would 
bow gratefully to the young man as he remembered how he had helped 
• to pay for a cow or a mule, and thus given him a start in the way of 
stock raising. Many a little colored urchin was glad to do a kind service 
or “de young gemmen” who had bought his first new hat or a pair of 
squeaking shoes. 

In brief, young Fenton’s recreative enjoyment was made up of little 
acts of kindness and charity bestowed here, there and every where, with- 
out any evident aim upon his part beyond the pleasure of causing a 
bright smile and a happy heart. Possessing the abilities which he did 
necessary to win a great reputation among the people where he lived by 
his natural eloquence and oratorical powers, he chose rather to be popu- 
lar, if he chose to be popular at all, m a way that brought him nearer to 
the hearts of the people and that would last longer in their memories 
than the effects of all the eloquence the world ever knew. 

Fenton thouglu often of the judge’s advice about hiis giving more 
time and attention to the study of political matters, but only as it would 
lie made to apply to all young men in a general way. He had very 
often liad an ocoasion to feel the necessity of a better class of legislation 
for the benefit of the people around him. He could not help seeing 


98 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


their interests were sadly neglected, and that it was undoubtedly the 
duty of some one to give them more attention. When he listened, as he 
was forced to do sometimes, to the foolish argument of the political 
demagogues who were urging the people to repudiate the State’s honest 
indebtedness, he could not help remembering the condition of affairs in 
his own native State, and how business of all kinds had been injured and 
nearly destroyed by adopting the same false doctrine. It even so fired 
his blood with zeal in the canse of the people that he was almost forced 
to go upon the stump, single-handed and alone, and denounce these leaders 
who wese seeking to destroy the best interests of the States. 

Again, when he looked around him and saw the miserable school 
facilities of the common people, both white and black, he could not 
avoid comparing them with the accounts published of the northern school^ 
and the manner in which the masses were treated there. And the ques- 
tion often puzzled him as to whose shoulders should properly bear the 
blame for this dereliction of duty in a land noted for its Christian civiliz- 
ation and education of the masses. 

He could not avoid noticing the disatisfaction which the course of 
Congressman Joran was creating among his people, and possibly thought 
it would be an easy matter to prevent his renomination at the coming 
democratic congressional convention. On all sides he saw preparations 
being made with this very object in view. A number of rival candidates 
were buzzing around the people, and each one of them had given him 
the benefit of a long private conversation in order to assertain his views 
as to their individual chances of success ' at the coming convention. 
Upon this point, however, he was compelled to offer very poor encour- 
agement to each of them as he was not sufficiently acquainted with the 
extent to which their merits were appreciated by the district to form any 
valuable judgment. 

There was another reason why he wished for the present to be non- 
committal upon this point. He desired to wait for the expected sign 
from Judge Thornton as to whom he and the republican leaders of the 
district had resolved upon to support in opposition to Congressman 
Joran. He felt certain that they had arrived at some conclusion upon 
this point, but as yet he had received no intimation of the fact from the 
judge himself, and accordingly had not the least idea as to whom they 
would select. Fenton felt that it would not only inure to his own per- 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


99 


sonal benefit but more especially to the interests of the entire district, 
to elect a democrat to whom the republicans should willingly lend 
their aid, for he would by so doing win the approbation of his old and 
tried friend, the judge, and. the district would doubtless gain a demo- 
cratic member of congress who would unselfishly work for the interests 
of his people and the entire nation and think much less of himself and 
his own personal interests than did such a man as Felix Joran, 

Thus it was that Fenton had worked patiently on filling the engage- 
ments of his profession up to the very day and hour of convening and ad- 
journing of the congressional convention without expressing an opinion 
as to the proper man whom it should select to fill the dignified office of 
representative. And when the adjournment of the convention brought 
him the news that Joran had again been selected as the party nominee, 
he could not drown the feeling that a great, overpowering blow had 
been struck at the best interests of his adopted people. 

But when he afterwards heard of the general dissatisfaction which the 
nomination of Joran had created, and the seeming determination of the 
delegates to put out an independent candidate, Fenton felt that the time 
had now come for the republicans to name the democrat whom they 
would prefer to see elected, and if the choice should prove as wise as he 
had reason to believe it would he had little doubt of his election and the 
defeat of Joran. 

Judge Thornton had been absent from Melton for several days on 
legal business, and was expected home that very evening, but had not ar- 
rived at the breaking-up of the convention, and the hour being so late. 
Fenton had come to the conclusion that the judge would not arrive 
until the next day. Accordingly when his day’s duties were over, and he 
had finished his evening meal, Fenton directed his steps toward the 
Thornton mansion, with the purpose of chatting awhile with Mrs. 
Thornton, and possibly gathering a few stray items of information con- 
cerning Elsie, who had been making an extensive visit of several weeks 
to her sister Irene and cousins at Nashville. 

By this time, it must be told the reader, little Elsie was eighteen 
years of age and had attained the average height of young ladies in 
general. And though she had been bright-eyed and "lovely as a little 
miss, she was now a very queen of beauty, dazzling to the eyes of such 
young men as were bold enough to approach her, She wus still the idol 


loo 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


and joy of her parents, who never tired of praising her, and her sister 
Irene regarded her as simply a piece of perfection. She doted on her 
with immense pride and satisfaction as she thought that during the fol- 
lowing winter Elsie would make her debut in society circles as her 
protege. 

Elsie, for some reason which it would have been difficult to explain 
if she had tried, had spent but little time in Melton since her graduation 
from school at Nashville. The requirements of her sister for her 
presence in the city were almpst constant and innumerable. Often and 
again Elsie longed for the quiet solitude of her village home, but no 
sooner did she reach there and settle down to enjoy its calm content, 
than a message would come from Irene that her services would be in- 
dispensable to her on such and such an occasion, and that she must 
certainly come back at that time. Elsie, if left to herself, would 
doubtless have resisted these constant and pressing demands of her sister, 
but Mrs. Thornton, though often quite unwillingly, would urge her to * 
go to Irene, and rather than seem inclined to be disobedient to her 
aged mother, she would return to the city. 

Only twice since the morning when Fenton had received the dainty 
little note from Elsie had he taken her by the hand and looked plead- 
ingly into her bright eyes. Her demeanor towards him was just as kind 
and respectful as ever before, and in her sisterly affection for him she 
had not seemed to change a particle. He noted on both these occasions 
however, that after the first greetings were over she had seemed to grow 
less cheerful in her manner toward him, and looked so sad and weary 
that he would almost forget himself in wondering at the change. In no 
way could he account for it, and somehow he could not bring himself to 
speak of his love for her. He seemed to feel that it would astonish her 
beyond measure, and perhaps make her sadder than before, unless per- 
chance she would adopt the other extreme and cut his acquaintance alto- 
gether. 

Fenton was not bashful by nature, neither did the sight of a young 
lady from the city have the effect of overwhelming his power of speech. 
But the truth was that Elsie appeared so different to him than as he re- 
membered in the pleasant days gone by, and probably he was waiting 
for her to regain her former appearance before he could speak his mind 
tp her calmly and confidently. He did not realize then, as he did after* 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


101 


ward, that the difference was not so much in the appearance of Elsie as 
in his own orbs of vision. Formerly when Elsie was all alive to his in- 
terests, her conversation, though at all times pleasant to him, seemed 
less unexpected and more as a matter of course. Now, that he was 
carefully noting her every look and gesture, beautiful to his eyes though 
they were, he seemed to be studying a different color in art than that 
which he had been picturing to himself for so many months, and doubt- 
less it was this study upon his part which detracted from the inclination 
which had formerly possessed him to pour into her listening ear so many 
eager words of love and endearment and understand each other perfectly 
forevermore, heart to heart and mind to mind. 

At all events, no avowal of the love he honored her with ever 
reached the ears of Elsie, and of late Fenton had been chiding himself 
that he had been so dilitory in making the declaration. It was true, he 
had not yet attained that position of prominence in social life which he 
at one time promised himself he would endeavor to reach, that he 
might force Irene to an acknowledgement of his claims upon her family, 
yet he was sensible of the danger to his future happiness to which such 
a long delay was hourly exposing him. He was firmly resolved that not 
another opportunity should be passed by for acquainting Elsie of his 
love, and even now, he was restlessly asking himself over and over 
again whether it was possible that he had not delayed the matter too 
long. 

He had been listening eagerly for news of Elsie’s home-coming, 
which event had already been delayed long beyond the expected time, 
and this was not his first visit to the Thornton mansion of late for the 
very purpose which he had then in view. When he arrived there, Mrs. 
Thornton inquired if he had heard any special reason for the judge’s 
delay, and Fenton explained that he attributed the delay to the fact that 
the judge had not finished his business quite as early as he had, 
expected and would probably not arrive at home until morning. 

After some further conversation concerning the political convention 
which nad just terminated at Melton and its unsatisfactory result, Mrs. 
Thornton delighted Fenton with the information that she had just 
received a letter from Elsie, in which she stated that it washer intention 
to leave the city for Melton on the following Monday morning, where 
she would remain for many weeks, or until the time her sister had 


102 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN, 


arranged for her debut in society at Nashville. Mrs. Thornton said she 
was certain that Elsie was quite anxious to remain in Melton, since she 
had been very unwilling to go back to the, city when she did, though 
her sister had insisted so strongly upon her coming. 

Fenton expressed great pleasure at hearing of Elsie’s return, though 
he felt it best to conceal his intense delight, since he would soon be 
afforded an opportunity of knowing whether such a proceeding would 
meet the entire approval of Elsie, herself. 

Just at this juncture the voice of Judge Thornton was heard calling 
the stable boy to care for his horse, and his footstep sounded on the 
gravel walk outside the house. 


/ 


N 


/ 




V 


r 




A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


103 



CHAPTER IX. 

/ 

Mrs. Thornton preceding Fenton met the judge at the door, who 
after exchanging salutations with his wife recognized the presence of 
Fenton, and grasping him by the hand shook it long and zealously. 

“My good friend and partner,” exclaimed the judge, “you have my 
heartiest congratulations. I have just heard of the unsatisfactory term- 
ination of the democratic conventon, and am now at liberty to 
tell you what I have wanted to do tor a long time. You know you 
promised to give all the assistance in your power toward the election of 
a liberal democrat whom the republicans would agree to support. You 
are the man we have agreed upon, and now I claim the fulfillment of 
your promise.” 

“What!” exclaimed Fenton rather excitedly. “Me? What do 
you mean. Judge Thornton?” he almost gasped. Then he began to 
laugh in a good-humored way. “Oh, I see, you are enjoying a little fun 
at my expense.” 

“You are greatly mistaken, sir,” said the judge solemnly, “for I was 
never more in earnest in my life. I have canvassed the republican senti- 
ment thoroughout the district thoroughly by private interviews and cor- 
respondence during the last few weeks, and know whereof I speak. I 
am only surprised at the eagerness with which my views concerning your 
candidacy have been accepted, and there is not the least doubt in my 
mind that by the day of election you will win the republican support of 
the entire district to a man. This, together with the tremendous disaf- 
fection in the democratic ranks over the wily Joran'will, in my opinion, 
insure your election beyond a question.” 


104 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


“But, my dear friend,” replied Fenton, “I am perfectly astonished. 
I can scarcely realize that you intended for me to play so important a 
part in the next election. ” 

“Wdl,” said the judge laughingly, “perhaps after the strong hint 
that I gave you to give more of your attention to the study of political 
questions, you deserve to be astonished.” 

“Yes, but that brings me to think of the fact that I gave very little 
attention to your advice in that respect, and really I have had but little 
opportunity to do so had I desired.” 

“Nevertheless we have determined to secure your election if pos- 
sible,” answered the judge in a manner indicating that the matter was 
finally settled in his mind, “and after that you will have time to study up 
those questions thoroughly. The first important matter to be considered 
is the public announcement of your candidacy, which should be pub- 
lished in all of the district papers and also in the daily journals at Nash- 
ville, so that it may be as widely circulated as possible. When this 
matter is carefully attended to, we will consult together about the 
issuance of a campaign circular, giving in detail the reasons for your op- 
position to the democratic nominee. And perhaps it will be advisable to 
issue a challenge to the Hon. Felix Joran, inviting him to a joint discussion 
of the political questions of the hour, at several prominent points in the 
congressional, district to which he can pay attention or not just as 
he pleases. You see your greatest chance of victory lies in the fact that 
you will be able to thoroughly surprise your enemy at the onset, and 
perhaps rout him completely before he has time to recover his wits. In 
any event, we have many advantages which he does not possess, and I 
am so eager for the fray to begin that it makes me feel quite young 
again.” 

“Well, Judge, I hardly know how to express my thanks for your 
kind interest in my welfare, but I am really very grateful for all you 
have done.” 

“Don’t worry yourself about that,” answered the Judge hastily, “I 
have waited patiently for this very day and hour, and the gratification 
of seeing you fill my old seat in congress will' recompense me far more 
than anything you can do or say just now. I hope to be able to make 
several addresses in your behalf to my old republican constituents before 
this campaign is over.” 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


105 


“Then let me assure you that I cheerfully accept the responsibility 
which you and your friends have seen fit to place upon me and will 
labor zealously to accomplish what you desire, by every honorable 
means.” 

Fenton soon bade his kind friends a happy good-night, and proceed- 
ed to his lodgings, endeavoring to accustom himself to the new situ- 
ation in which he found himself as he went his way. He was thoroughly 
satisfied with the judge’s assurance of the republican support, but he 
could not avoid some misgivings as to the amount of support which he 
w'ould draw from the democrats. Certainly he was aware that a large 
proportion of them were dissatisfied with the representation of Joran, 
and if a good and popular man should come out against him, it seemed 
an easy matter to defeat him. But of course the people would expect 
an opponent who was thoroughly versed in political questions, and one, 
too, who would have no fear of being vanquished by Joran on the stump. 
Not that Joran had ever been considered an able debater, but his two 
terms in Congress and experience with governmental affairs had naturally 
given him some advantages over almost any opponent. Whether Fen- 
ton would be able to counterbalance this active experience of Joran’s by 
his natural patriotism and oratorical power, together with his self-ac- 
quired knowledge of the needs of his constituents, was a question that 
could only be determined by the course of events and the progress of the 
canvass. 

Another cause of doubt which arose in Fenton’s mind was as to the 
effect his failure to be elected would have upon his chanches to win 
Elsie. He was aware that a failure would bring down upon him an op- 
position from Irene more sharply defined and mpre determined than 
ever. Somehow he could not repress the feeling that this continued 
and constant opposition to him was being reflected in Elsie’s manner 
toward him, though possibly unconsciously to herself. Still he hoped 
that he was mistaken upon this point, since she was totally unaware of 
his regard for her other than that she had known of two years before. 

Fie endeavored to encourage himself by the reflection that should 
he be successful in the coming campaign, there would be a splendid 
opportunity open for him to rise in political prominence and conse- 
quently in the social scale, where there would be no occassion for him 
to longer fear the opposition of Irene. At first he was puzzled to de- 


A DIJCm GENTLEMAN. 


lo6 


termine whether he should meet Elsie on her arrival in Melton the fol* 
lowing Monday, how just four days off, and at once settle the great 
question lying nearest his heart, or delay the matter until the campaign 
was over, some six weeks later, when he could tell more certainly what 
his future prospects would be. 

The determination of this question cost him the severest struggle he 
had undergone for many a day, but his usual sound common sense at last 
gained the victory. He determined to put this and every other ques- 
tion that would tend to weaken him in the fight bravely aside, and con- 
centrate his entire energy of mind and body on the political struggle be- 
fore him. He reasoned that any other course might prove fatal to all 
his hopes, and surely he could not in that brief time lose more than he 
had already done by waiting in patience. 

The result of this was that he fell to work that very night, and by 
twelve o’clock he had prepared his announcements for the various news- 
papers, together with a challenge for a joint debate to Congressman 
Joran and posted them for the morning mail. This done he retired to 
his couch and enjoyed a most refreshing slumber, and on the following 
morning he arose early and partook of a hearty breakfast. No sooner 
did he arrive at the office, however, than he found the worthy old Judge 
awaiting him, ready to begin the preparation of the circular to which 
he had referred. The Judge was greatly pleased when Fenton informed 
him that he had mailed the announcements and Challenge, and they im- 
mediately set to work upon the cmcular as if there was not a moment to 
be lost. The preparation of this document was completed in a few hours, 
and in a manner entirely satisfactory to both the judge and Fenton. 
The copy was taken -to the Melton printing establishment to have sev- 
eral thousand circulars issued without delay. 

In the meantime the judge and Fenton engaged themselves in writing 
a large number of private letters to friends, both democrats and republic- 
ans, throughout the length and breadth of the district. They then se- 
cured the services of a number of the villagers, to deliver these letters in 
person, and who were prepared to start on their different errands the 
moment that the circulars were issued, each one to carry and deliver all 
that he could manage as he rode through the country. 

One of the chief ideas of the vigorous old judge was to notify the 
people of Fenton’s candidacy in the briefest time possible to a county 


A DIXIE GENTLEMA]^. 


tbj 

not blest with telephones and telegraph wires, in order to preclude the 
possibility of another candidate taking the field in opposition to Joran, 
for while no one was known to have definitely determined upon such a 
step, yet where the disatisfaction at the nomination was so widespread 
and thoroughly known such a thing was not improbable so long as it 
was not generally known that Fenton was taking active steps in that di- 
rection. Judge Thornton, having had considerable experience in the con- 
duct of campaigns, knew perfectly well that when a move was definitely 
decided upon it could not be carried out too quickly. 

So swiftly and thoroughly had the plans and operations of the two 
men been accomplished that nearly the entire district had been made 
aware of Fenton’s candidacy within two days after the adjournment of 
the convention, and the news so rapidly passing about from one individ- 
ual to another was shortly confirmed by the publication of his announce- 
ment in the papers. From that time assurances of solid support began 
to pour in upon Fenton from every quarter of the district, and probably 
never in any other manner could he have been brought to believe that 
he was held in such a high consideration in the minds of his people. 

While his prospects seemed to brighten every hour, he did not 
waste a moment’s time in idleness. Such part of his law pratice as he 
was certain could not be attended to by Judge Thornton he was com- 
pelled to turn over almost bodily to Fogg & Blum, at least until the can- 
vass was over. With this portion of his daily duties off his hands, he 
felt free to plunge into a preparation for the discussions he would doubt- 
less soon begin wdth his opponent. In this work, however, he found 
himself frequently interrupted by the many friends who would some- 
times crowd his office to help him on with words of cheer. Of course 
all of these callers were actuated by the most honest intentions in the 
world, but at times they were extremely troublesome and delayed him 
not a little in his work. Yet he bore all of these interruptions with the 
greatest of good humor and treated all of his callers with the same kind 
and sympathetic consideration. r 

He had not forgotten, in all of his busy hours, the moment that 
Elise Thornton was to arrive in Melton, and when the stage-coach stop- 
ped before heV father’s residence Fenton was the first to step forward 
and assist her in alighting. The cordial manner in which she greeted 
him give him more assurance than any words could have done, and in a 


A DIXIE gentleman. 


log 


short time he explained that his business was extremely urgent just then 
and begged her to excuse him. 

As Elsie had not mentioned his candidacy in their brief meeting to- 
gether, he concluded that she had either not heard of it or had forgotten 
it for the moment, but he felt highly elated over the greeting she had 
given him, and he accordingly returned to his work with a much lighter 
heart than he had felt for many days. 

The effect of Fenton’s announcement upon Hon. Felix Joran can be 
better imagined than described. It had come to him from the lips of 
one of his old cronies, while sitting inThe postoffice at Cedarton, absorb- 
ed in the contents of a city daily which had just reached him. He had 
already settled down to the belief that the main work to secure his elec- 
tion had terminated with the convention at Melton, at which he had 
been so easily successful. Of course he had intended to exhibit his im- 
portant personage at various points in the district prior to the election, 
and possibly make a few boastful speeches, eulogistic of the eminence 
and importance of Congressman Joran, but he was certainly not going to 
put himself to any great amount of trouble even to do that. He growl- 
ed to his particular friends that he had enough to do for his constituents 
after he reached Washington without being dragged up and down the 
district for nothing but to satisfy their curiosity. 

He could scarcely believe his ears when his friend imparted to him 
the news he had heard concerning Fenton, and even hunted up a news- 
paper to verify its truth. 

“Is it possible,” he thundered, growing almost purple in the face 
with passion, “that scrapegrace and outcast is attempting to thrust him- 
self in my pathway again? Why, it’s a perfect outrage and imposition 
upon my constituents to be tortured with the^silly electioneering twaddle 
of a noddy like him. I suppose now he’ll be brazen-faced enough to 
want a joint discussion over the district with me. If he does. I’ll take 
great pleasure in chewing him up in the first round, and sending him 
back,” 

“Here, Colonel, is a letter for you,” said the deputy postmaster, 
who had been opening the mail. Joran was often called Colonel simply 
for want of a dignified title which some people have an idea should 
properly belong to every individual in the community who happens to be 
possessed of a little importance. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


109 


Joran seized the letter and tore it open. Just as he had predicted, 
he held in his hand a challenge for a joint discussion. It stated in very 
polite terms that the writer was about to publish a list of appointments 
embracing the leading towns of the district, at which he desired to brief- 
ly address the people upon s^me of, the principal issues of the day, and 
inviting the Congressman to be present at such times, when he would 
gladly be accorded an equal division of time. The challenge closed by 
requesting the earliest possible reply. 

The Honorable Joran read the challenge to the little crowd who 
had collected about him, and jeeringly declared he would not only ac- 
cept the challenge, but fill out whatever list of appointments his oppon- 
ent might see fit to make even should he be compelled to do so without 
the presence of Fenton. The Congressman had fallen into this brag- 
gadocio style since he had found success so easy of attainment at the 
last election, and as long as his constituents believed in his ability it 
suited them as well as any other, and no one cared to treat slightingly 
any utterance he might see fit to make. But this time the discontent 
which had spread so widely over the distrrct had not found a little lodge- 
ment even in his adopted town of Cedartown, and several persons who 
were gathered in the crowd about Joran slyly winked knowingly as they 
caught each other’s eyes. 

In fact, though Fenton had never practiced in the courts of Ceder- 
town, he had a considerable number of acquaintances in the town and 
county, and who were tolerably well posted as to his reputation as a 
lawyer throughout the district. From their knowledge of his abilities, 
many of them recognized at once and hailed with joy the fact that Joran 
was about to meet a pretty tough young debator, even if he should not 
be completely vanquished by him. 

After Congressman Joran had made a few more blustering remarks 
he managed to escape from the crowd and at once sought the retirement 
of his private office. Here he sat down and pondered long and deeply, 
probably for the first time in many months. It was well enough to 
bluster and brag in the face of, as he supposed, a friendly crowd, but 
now he must come down to solid facts. He was well enough acquainted 
with Fenton to know that he meant business in what^er he undertook^ 
and that he was not afraid to carry it through to the end. He knew 
extremely well that this candidacy of Fenton’s was no idle affair, for he 


!10 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


had reason to believe that he understood what had brought it about. 
Joran had heard considerable, during the past two years, of the prob- 
ability of Judge Thornton making the race as the Republican candidate 
for congress, but did not put much faith in the rumor on account of the 
extreme age of the Judge, and he a^so was aware that no other Repub- 
lican candidate would dare make the race in that district against the 
Democratic nominee. But Joran believed that Fenton had received the 
promised aid of the Republican leaders, such as the Judge himself, or 
else he would not have announced himself, and putting this supposition 
together with the knowledge that he was compelled to secure his own 
nomination by chicanery, he at once saw reason to fear a decision of 
the people against him at the ballot-box. 

But Joran could have viewed the prospect before him with much 
greater composure if his opponent had been any other than the despised 
Fenton. He could not help feeling Fenton’s natural superiority over 
him, and he knew that Fenton had the ability to win where he would 
loose. Besides this, he had already suffered greatly at his opponent’s 
hands. Twice before had he foiled Jorun in knavish schemes, and now 
he stood prepared to attack him again. 

This time, however, Joran slowly come to the resolution that he 
would not give up without a bitter struggle. He could not afford to 
do so under any circumstances, for if he lost he would be almost penni- 
less. He had already been compelled to negotiate a friendly loan to de- 
fray the expenses of his nomination only a few days before, and now he 
would be compelled to expend a much larger sum to secure his election. 
He would pay no attention whatever to the polite challange sent to him 
by his opponent. He would simply treat it as though he attached no 
importance to it whatever, let the result be what it might. Perhaps he 
would make it convenient to meet his rival at some of those appoint- 
ments and attempt to draw his crowd away from him or annoy him in 
any way that might then suggest itself, but he was not going to take 
the trouble to meet him in an open and joint debate before the people. 
He recognized at once that such a course would exhibit his own inability 
to discuss public questions, and this knowledge when in possession of his 
constituents woul^l be fatal to his election. 

One of the first acts of Congressman Joran, after he had concluded 
his private gemmunion with himself, was to prepare himself with all pos' 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


Ill 


sible speed for an extended journey, and set out at once to make a pri- 
vate and personal canvas of the entire district. He rode fast and furious- 
ly here and there and everwhere, stopping every person whom he met 
for a few minute’s brief conversation about the prospects of the nominee, 
and then hurrying on to the next one. This course he pursued nearly 
day and night, barely stopping for rest, for two whole weeks. He wildly 
urged the democracy to stand by their nominee, or else their political 
power would be lost forever. To the republicans he would put up the 
same old story about his great love and friendship for all parties, and 
his eager desire to be a representative of all his constituents alike, and 
there was no end to the promises of what he would be able to do for 
them if he was returned for just one more term. 

Thus he pursued his rather wild career, until one day he was handed 
a letter from a prominent democrat in Pike County, declaring that un- 
less he should meet Fenton when the latter spoke at Melton, that the 
county would certainly cast its vote against the nominee, and he under- 
stood the same feeling existed in several of the other counties. 

Fenton had rather impatiently awaited the reply of Joran to his 
challenge for an entire week, and had privately received assurance that 
the challenge had been delivered into Joran’s hands, together with the 
language which the latter had used upon -that occasion. At the end of 
that time, having heard that Joran was busy pursuing his canvas, and 
had paid no further attention to his challenge, Fenton proceeded to 
publish his list of appointments, the first address to be made at MeltOn 
on Monday of the following week, that being a prominent court day, 
when the population of the county, white and black, would be well repre- 
sented at the county seat. 

The reception of the letter referred to had the effect of bringing the 
Congressman to a realization of the mistake he had been making in not 
preparing to meet Fenton on the stump, but he at once determined to 
face the music the best he could, and endeavor to ridicule or brow-beat 
his opponent out of the race. In accordance with this idea, he turned 
his attention at once to a canvas of Pike County, in order to ascertain 
what effect his blustering game was going to have upon the people. 

By the arrival of the day appointed for the speaking at Melton, the 
news of the joint debate of the two contestants for congressional honors 
had extensively circulated throughout the county, and so much interest; 


112 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


was manifested that an unusual crowd poured into Melton, and even rep- 
resentatives from adjoining counties were seen upon the streets of 
the village. A little stand had been prepared in the open air for the 
speakers, and at two o’clock in the afternoon, the courts having ad- 
journed for the purpose, one of the speakers mounted the stand, and 
when the crowd recognized the youthful and handsome face of b'enton, 
as he stood proud and dignified before them, a tremendous shout rent 
the air, certainly sufficient encouragement for any speaker who had 
something of importance to say. Some close observers of the speaker 
have been heard to asseverate that the shout then given changed the 
young man’s appearance from that of a youthful lawyer to a grave and 
sedate statesman. This may have been imagination upon their part in 
the excitement of the moment, but certain it was that every word which 
fell from the young lawyer’s lips made a deep impression upon the audi- 
ence. Some of the old white-haired men gathered there declared often 
thereafter that they never knew what eloquence meant until Fenton 
spoke to them that day. His words created in his hearers a feeling be- 
yond that which is oftentimes responded to by shouts and cheers. They 
were too deeply interested in what he had to tell them to disturb him in 
any manner whatever, and although his entire address was received in 
almost complete silence it as surely betokened victory for his cause. 

It IS unnecessary to attempt even a brief synopsis of his remarks at 
the present time, as many of the subjects which were claiming the at- 
tention of the people at that time, and which were discussed more or 
less according to their importance, have now ceased to agitate the 
public mind and would no longer be considered interesting. Yet there 
was one point upon which he which he so far differed from the usual 
tone of Southern speakers at that time (and possibly even the present 
day does not otter very much of an exception to the foregoing remarks) 
that some mention should properly be made of it. This was in refer- 
ence to the manner in which the negroes had been treated by the nation 
since the war. Of course, he said, he remembered that the government 
had been laboring under great financial difficulties, but not as much had 
been done toward the enlightment of the negro as could have been, 
either by the States themselves in the South or by the general govern- 
ment, or by the States of the North, whose duty he conceived to be 
more than the mere striking; off of the slave’s shackles, He argued that 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


the government had freed the slave, had given him the right of suffrage, 
and had even attempted to enforce his social rights, but had there left 
him, in the majority of instances, in a condition far worse than that of 
slavery. He'said the negro had been brought to the shores of America 
I - by force, while the laws of the country winked at the crime and now 
that the nation had in part attempted to appease the voice of an accus- 
ing conscience by clothing the negro with the full prerogatives of an 
American citizen, it should make a further attempt to repair the whole 
wrong by educating him so that he might properly fulfill the duties of 
such citizenship. For one, he said, he had never been afraid of the 
negro’s education. The greatest fear he had entertained was to be con- 
sidered the result of ignorance, whether it be the ignorance of the white 
or black citizen. 

It need not be said that such an argument, coming from a Southern 
democratic speaker at that time, created a profound impression upon his 
hearers, though there were scores of democrats in his audience who had 
always looked upon the negro question in the same light, but had not 
dared to express their views openly for fear of being looked upon as 
traitors to their party. At least such had been the intimations of all 
the speakers they had heard upon the question previous to this time. 

_Now they began to recognize in Fenton a man who was not afraid to 
speak his honest sentiments regardless of party ties, and when he closed 
his address and politely bespoke the attention of the audience for his 
competitor, an applause of approval, long, loud and unmistakable, came 
from the assembled concourse. 

That which greeted Joran, as he arose to his feet, was very weak in 
comparison. He began by" making a number of excuses as to his inabil- 
ity to make a long and flowery harangue such as the people had been 
listening to just at that time. He attempted to ridicule the speech of 
Fenton from beginning to end, but this attempt fell perfectly flat upon 
his audience. When he began to boast of numerous bills which he had 
introduced during his last term in Congress, several questions came from 
the audience as to what had become of the measures, to which Joran 
could only offer the explanation that they had never found their way out 
of the committee rooms. Upon the subject of negro education, he 
knew that Fenton had won ^the major portion of the audience over to 
his views, and accordingly he did not dare to make the harangue upon 


A mxm GENTLEMAN. 


il4 


that subject which it had been customary for Southern audiences to lis- 
ten to. So he wisely refrained from touching upon the subject at all. 
Joran soon wound up his speech by an attack upon the history and char, 
acter of his opponent, and declared that he was astonished to see an 
aristocrat like Fenton hankering after the petty pay of a Congressman, 
According to his judgment the only motive which his opponent had en- 
tertained in making the race was to acquire the emoluments of office, 
and so far as that was concerned he could see no good reason for the 
people wishing to change their representative, more especially since he 
was just now beginning to thoroughly understand the routine duties 
of a Congressman. 

The most exciting part of the speaking was^when Fenton arose for 
the purpose of making a rejoinder to his adversary’s attack upon his 
character and motives. He refered to the appellation of “aristocrat” 
which Mr. Joran had bestowed upon him, and said that he was astonish- 
ed to hear anyone apply that term to an individual who had made his 
first visit to his new home while working his way on a raft, and when he 
spoke of how his opponent had on that occasion denominated him as a 
renegade and an outcast, the audience seemed to grow almost wild in 
appreciation at the neat turn he had given to the whole affair. In com- 
paring the mercenary motives which actuated him in the present cam- 
paign with those of his opponent Fenton produced and read a letter 
which Joran had written to one of his constituents while in Congress, 
urging him to work for the repudiation of the State’s indebtedness on 
account of the taxation which he Joran, would have to pay upon his 
property. He also referred to the fact that Joran had voted for and 
supported the back-salary-grab bill as a proof that his Congressional 
motives were entirely mercenary. 

The crowd hurrahed themselves hoarse at the turn which affairs had 
taken, and Congressman Joran became so disgusted that he refused to 
make any rejoinder whatever, and, pulling his hat down to his ears, he 
departed in a search of his horse and buggy, and returned to his home 
at Cedartown that very night. Fenton at once became the hero of the 
hour, and his praises. were heard on the lips of almost every one. As 
soon as he descended from the platform, his hand was warmly grasped 
by his old partner, who seemed to be weepiiag with very joy. Friends 
from every quarter of the county crowded around him, and assured him 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN.. 


ns 


that not a doubt now lingered in their minds concerning the certainty of 
his election, if he only lived until the ballots were counted out. His 
glowing countenance served to make this last seem extremely insignificant 
in comparison, and the multitude dispersed to their various homes more 
than contented with what they had seen and heard. 

As a matter of course Fenton saw great cause for encouragement in 
the events of that afternoon, but they only served to nerve him yet more 
for the work which was marked out before him. He began to reason to 
himself now that it was not alone a question of defeating his adversary, 
which really had never given him any great cause of trouble, but he de- 
sired to impress the people of the entire district with what he saw was to 
them coniparatively new teachings in mayy respects. His desire was to 
be thoroughly understood upon those questions before they cast their 
ballots for him, so that no complaint would afterwards be raised that he 
was misrepresenting their views upon these questions. To do this in an 
interesting manner, without wearying their good patience, now became 
his greatest study, and the result of this study upon his part was that he 
continued to grow more and more interested on each successive occasion. 
But he was never again asked to divide time with his opponent, who had 
proceeded to make a few seperate appointments of his own, and deliber- 
ately thereafter kept himself out of Fenton’s way. It must be reserv- 
ed for another chapter, however, to speak of a movement which the 
Congressman had inaugurated that ultimately gave far more trouble to i 
his opponent than he would have done by opposing him face to face upon 
the stump. 








V.'.- w/ 





✓ 


A iDint GENf Li^MAN. 


116 


CHAPTER X. 

Prior to the civil war, and for some years afterward, there were but 
two recognized classes of people in the southern States, or at least 
throughout the greater portion of them, and they were known as the 
slaves or colored people on one side, and the slave owners or aristoc- 
racy on the other. Between these two classes there was, of 
course, a large population of poor whites, whose social condition was 
very forlorn indeed. Such persons were scarcely regarded as worthy of 
being denominated human beings. Certainly no one was envious of 
their condition in life. Bad as was the social status of the slave, that 
of the poor white was worse, and to a certain extent was looked down 
upon even by the slave himself. He was, in brief, in that condition 
^ which some writer has compared to a graveyard, wherein those inside 
could not get out, while those on the outside did not desire to get in. 

After the war these two classes remained a distinct impression upon 
the minds of the southern people, though many changes in their actual 
existence had been brought about. The war made it possible for the 
poor white to place himself on an equal footing with many of his former 
aristocratic neighbors, for they were as poor, or nearly so, as himself 
and for a while less independent. The poor white man did not forget 
that in former years the aristocrats of the South -wiere all democrats, and 
that to be considered as living outside the pale of the party was 
either more or less disgraceful. He remembered, too, that the Repub- 
lican party was responsible for the freedom of the slaves, and would 
naturally incur the enmity of the southern aristocratic Democrat, while 
the negro, if left to his natural inclination, would affiliate with the Re- 
publicans, 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


117 


Here, then, was an opportunity for the southern poor man to be- 
come respectable — and get out of the middle ground which had been so 
unenviable. He had no desire to join that party whose most numerous 
advocates in the South were likely to be the negroes, and therefore in 
order to become respectable, even in his own eyes he was forced to join 
the Democratic party. This is the main reason yet attributed why the 
poor whites of the South adhere so closely to the tenets and doctrines of 
democracy. For many years it has not been necessary to explain the 
theories of democracy to those people in order to command their suf- 
frage; they know too well the result of allying themselves with the op- 
posite party. 

It is found, too, that the foreign immigrant who happens to locate 
in that section of the country, in order to proclaim his respectability, 
conceives his first duty to be to align himself with democracy; And the 
fact is a notorious one that when these self-same foreigners are clothed 
with a little brief authority within the ranks of the southern democracy 
they can be relied upon to outrival all other means of insolent domina- 
tion by which a control is sought to be gained of the negro suffrage. It 
certainly in advance in point of afficacy to the shotgun o r bulldozing 
methods reported to be employed at the polls in some of the Southern 
States. 

The influence of one prominent saloon ward or district politician 
who, for some private reason of his own, is willing to swear by his 
fealty to the democratic party, is of far more potence in regard to the 
ignorant negro than a score of shotguns. Such a politician has been 
known to carry a ward, in which a large majority of the voters were 
negroes, at one election in favor of his own party, and then at another 
in order to spite some one of his colleagues who had mistreated him, to 
hand the ward bodily over to the opposite party. 

The country has been horrified, and often quite properly, at the 
blood-curdling reports of attempts to carry the polls in certain sections 
by the free and open use of the shotgun, though the majority of these 
reports are often believed to be greatly magnified for the benefit of the 
republican tickets in the north, and the aid of congress has time and 
again been invoked to prevent a repetition of these crimes. But it may 
be stated upon the authority of absolute fact that the greatest danger 
threatening the freedom of th^ southern ballot, during the era of its vast 


ii8 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


proportion of illiteracy, is not the shotgnn, but the agency so easily em- 
ployed by either party to which reference has been made in the forego- 
ing paragraph. That is undoubtedly the bane of the ballot-box in the 
South. 

If it is wrong in principle for a set of men to drive negroes away 
from the polls by the use of the shotgun, and refuse to allow them to vote 
their sentiments, then it is equally wrong for an imported politica 
hireling, totally destitute of principle and ignorant of the needs of his 
lately adopted country, to carry the negro vote of a ward about in his 
pocket and sell to whatever party he may desire, and the law cannot be 
made too swift and certain for his punishment. 

The author has been led to the foregoing remarks because he has 
been personally observant of their truthfulness, and hopes they may be 
the partial means of correcting a prevailing sentiment among the people 
both north and south that the former slave-holding masses in the south 
are responsible for the suppression of the uegro vote. Of a truth there 
may be found a surprising large number of Congressman Jorans in the 
south, who essay to take upon their self important shoulders its leader- 
ship in political matters; neither should we be surprised, if the telescope 
were turned in that direction, to find a large number of his stamp in the 
north. But in neither case should they be looked upon as representing 
the sentiments of the gi;eat mass of people. 

Robert Fenton had foiled the schemes of Felix Joran upon three 
different occasions, and each time without making any especial effort to 
do so. It was quite apparent to every one that Fenton had his adver- 
sary at a great disadvantage, though Joran had by no means given up 
the fight. The latter saw that he was no match for young Fenton upon 
the stump, and that he would now be compelled to adopF entirely differ- 
ent tactics in order to encompass his defeat. 

At his appointments for speaking he was greeted by very insignifi- 
cant audiences, though he kept up a constant private canvass, now chief- 
ly confined to life long adherents of the southern democracy. These he 
constantly warned of the danger which threatened their party in the 
election of Fenton, whom he characterized as a republican candidate and 
negro sympathizer. He recounted to them the danger of educating the 
negro, for which appeals to Congress were now being made. He did not 
hesitate to make up plausible stories regarding the previous character of 


119 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


Fenton in his Virginia home. And as if to crown his infamous career 
with ignominy, he privately bought the influence of those who boasting- 
ly controlled a large element of the negro vote. 

These infamous proceedings came to the ears of Fenton, who did 
not hesitate to publicly charge them against his adversary on every oc- 
casion. He proceeded at once to acquaint his audiences with his former 
life, and how his father and brother fell battling for the southern cause. 
He denied that he was a republican, though he would be proud to win 
their votes, for, as he had studied the definition of democracy, he was 
and always had been a Jeffersonian democrat. But he said that this 
fact did not give him a right to deny the charge of his opponent that he 
was a negro sympathizer. He said that it might bring about his de- 
feat at the polls, but he could not deny the charge. He had always re- 
gretted the condition of the colored race in the south, and was willing 
to do everything in his power to make it better. He had seen his be- 
loved land grow rich and powerful under the herculean labors of the en- 
slaved African. He could not restrain a feeling of pity for a noble and 
faithful horse, who labored all his days in the service of his master, re- 
ceiving a mere pittance in return; how, then, could he restrain a sympathy 
for a human being, a fellow creature, who had reason and a soul? He 
had seen the negro, a few years ago, turned out upon the land which he 
had made wealthy, with not even a poor log cabin that he could call his 
own. But he was a free man, and he went to work with a will, some- 
how managing to support himself and loved ones in an impoverished and 
nearly destitute land. Yes, he thought he could afford to sympathize 
with a man like that, let the consequences be what they might. 

And then Fenton would explain to his audience that he had another 
feeling in regard to the condition of the negro, which was akin to one of 
fear. He recognized the fact that because of their hardy natures the 
negroes were a very prolific .race, redoubling their population once in 
every twenty-five years. He feared for the safety of his native land 
when peopled with a large and constantly increasing ignorant population. 
The government had made them citizens and placed in their hands the 
sacred ballot. Would it be better for the future of this glorious land 
that they should use that power ignorantly or with refinement and edu- 
cation? If the latter, then it was clearly the duty of the government to 
place within their reach the means of education. He would favor to 


120 


A DIXIE gentleman. 


the fullest extent of his influence the free education of the negro by the 
government, a right which it undoubtedly held by virtue of the law of 
self-preservation. 

Those convincing arguments upon the difficulties of the race prob- 
lem impressed the people as they had never been before, and public sen- 
timent was rapidly crystalizing in favor of the defiant young Virginian. 
One of his speeches had been published in full in the columns of a daily 
paper at Nashville and attracted widespread attention. Many of the 
southern papers at once took up a discussion of the subject, a number 
of them criticizing his speech severely while others were equally loud in 
its praise. 

As for the democratic nominee, he endeavored to make the most of 
the newspaper attacks upon Fenton, and loudly bleated of the danger 
which threatened the democratic party in Fenton’s election, and yet 
while he was thus declaring his enmity toward the negro and their ad- 
vancement he was endeavoring to steal his suffrage by the promise of 
some paltry reward. 

Thus matters wore on until the canvass labors were closed and the 
day for balloting had arrived. It was quite evident that the election 
would be a close one, for while the better element of citizens black and 
white, were almost unaminously in favor of Fenton’s election, yet a large 
proportion of the colored vote was cast for his opponent, whose success 
in his underhanded scheme together with working upon the fears of 
some of the old slaveholders had given him excellent chances of suc- 
cess. 

When his labors had ended Fenton returned to Melton, where he 
quietly awaited the result of the people’s choice, feeling contented that 
he had made an honorable canvass of which he had no reason to feel 
ashamed, and that he had fully explained his views to the people, who 
would know just what to expect of him should he be elected. He was per- 
fectly aware that his opponent was endeavoring to influence the igno- 
rant vote by despicable means, but nothing more could be expected of 
such a dishonorable competitor as Joran had proven himself to be, and 
he felt that he would much rather receive defeat by such means than to 
be elected by them. 

On the morning after the election the returns began to come into 
Melton from the various counties of the district, and at first it seemed 


121 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


as though Joran was certainly elected, although Pike County had given 
a rousing majority for its own citizen. When all the returns had finally 
arrived, however, it was found that Fenton had carried three more 
counties than his opponent, although receiving only a small majority of 
the total vote. Nevertheless he was elected, and the matter settled to 
the entire satisfaction of Melton, whose people spent the greater part 
of the following night in wild demonstrations of rejoicing over the re- 
sult. A large number cf citizens were in town, awaiting the final result, 
and when it was made known they proceeded to assemble in front of 
Fenton’s lodgings, where they were soon regaled with a most appro- 
priate speech of thanks from the successful young candidate. 

Scarcely had Fenton concluded his brief address and dismissed his 
enthusiastic audience, when he met a boy coming out of his room door, 
who informed him that he had just left a note on his table in the private 
room. Fenton proceeded at once to find the note, and was agreeably 
surprised to discover a charming little boquet of flowers lying on the 
table, to which was attached the following: “From Elsie to her 
brother.” 

Fenton vainly endeavored to repress a feeling akin to pain as he 
read the words, though he knew that he had no right to expect any- 
thing more expressive of the feeling with which she regarded him. He 
could not avoid the intuitive knowledge, as it then seemed to him, that 
she would never entertain the thoughts of a dearer relation to him. 
V/as it possible that this was to be the ending of all his happy dreams 
of future success? He felt that without the loving companionship of 
Elsie Thornton, his way through life, no matter how brilliant and ap- 
parently successful to the outside world would be dreary and desolate 
beyond expression. Nay, he would prefer to end it all now, before he 
had really begun it. 

He was not accustomed to allow such forebodings as this to depress 
him, but somehow it seemed impossible for him to free himself from them, 
and he knew that a longer delay of the question so important to his fu- 
ture happiness would greatly harass his peace of mind and disturb the 
rest which he so much needed after the fatiguing labors of the last month. 
Fenton had already received the hearty congratulation of Judge Thorn- 
ton upon his success, and he now believed that he would be able to have 
an interview with Elsie that very night, and accordingly as soon as he 


122 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


could escape from the visitors who had been pouring in upon him he 
prepared for a call at the Thornton residence. It did not take him long 
to reach there, and he was rejoiced to find Elsie alone in thelibary read- 
ing. 

She arose and moved quickly toward him when she saw him stand- 
ing in the door, holding out both her hands, and said: 

“O, how much I congratulate you, my brother. I am ever so happy 
over your election. But I w'as afraid you would be too busy to think of 
coming out to see us to night.” 

“Well, you see,” said Fenton, “I was almost forced to come in order 
to acknowledge the receipt of those lovely flowers. And besides I had 
something particular to — that is — I thought the judge would like to talk 
over some business matters. But I suppose he has retired for the night?” 

“Oh, no, he hasn’t,” said Elsie as she started for the door. “Just 
sit down and I will call him at once.” 

But Fenton had retained his hold of the little hand which she had 
given him, and holding it a little firmer he said in a low tone.” 

“V/ait just a moment, Elsie. I have something to say to you 
first.” 

He led her gently to a seat, and, with her eyes watching his face 
wonderingly, he sat down by her. Pausing for a moment as though he 
was trying to decipher the best means of acquainting her with, the news 
he had to tell, he began: 

“Elsie, do you remember the morning you left Melton to attend 
school at Nashville that you sent me a little note of farewell.” 

Elsie broke into a little laugh, and represented that she remem- 
bered writing him something, though she could not tell now what it 
was.” 

“Then let me tell you how well I remember it, for I have carried it 
with me ever since you left, and here it is now,” he said, as he drew the 
note from a book which he carried in his pocket. 

“But I cannot imagine why you should keep it so long; there was 
certainly nothing very precious about a note that I could write.” 

“There you are mistaken, Elsie; for I have found it very precious 
to me every since. On that morning I discovered something else which 
has never left me since that day.” , 

“Why, Mr, Fenton, you talk in riddles. I declare I don’t under- 
Stand you.” 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


123 


“Then let me tell you plainly, Elsie, that on the morning I received 
this note I discovered that you were no longer my sister only, but you 
must some day either become my wife or leave me the most miserable of 
men, for I loved you more than all the world beside. And after many long 
days of weary waiting and hoping, I found that I could wait no longer, 
and so I have come here to-night to lay my secret before you. Tell me, 
if you can, my darling Elsie, -have I hoped in vain?” 

Elsie had dropped her eyes, and then her head, and quietly with- 
drew her hand from his. At first she made no reply nor sign that she 
even understood what he was saying. Then partially raising her head, 
as if deeply reflecting, she said slowly: 

“I cannot say how surprised I am at your words, Mr. Fenton, You 
have always treated me in such a kind yet careless way that I have 
never thought of love. I can hardly realize that you are in earnest even 
now. I never dreamed of being more than a sister to you, and I do not 
believe that I love any one sufficiently to marry.” 

“Do you mean that you could not learn to love me other than as a 
brother?” asked Fenton, 

“No. I do not say that now, for I do not know. I have never 
thought seriously of love or marriage.” 

“Can you tell me what I can do to win your love?” he asked earn- 
estly. 

“You can do nothing more than you have already done. I know 
that you are noble, bra^e and true. You are all that I could wish my 
husband to be, and while you have been very dear to me for a long time, 
yet I feel that your wife should love you more than I do now.” 

“Promise me, then, Elsie, that you will never give your heart will- 
ingly to another until you have earnestly endeavored to feel toward me 
as you should love your partner for life, and I will try to wait- Will 
you promise me this?” 

“Yes, I promise that,” she answered, “willingly.” 

“And when you have studied your own heart, promise me that you 
will let me know the result without delay.” 

“Yes, I will promise that, too.” 

Fenton arose and bade her an affectionate good-night, after saying 
that he would call again before she took her departure for Nashville, 
where she would spend the winter with her sister Irene. 


124 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


The first season which a young lady spends in society is always an 
attractive one. It is looked forward to with many bright anticipations, 
for it is almost certain to bring her a constant round of pleasure, and 
perhaps may be the means of determining the whole course of her future 
life. Her debut into society very quickly determines for her, as a rule, 
what station she is to occupy in after life. If she happens to be beauti- 
ful and attractive, with a relationship sufficiently wealthy and distinguish- 
ed to give her prominence, she takes a leading position in society at the 
very outset of her career, and which she generally maintains until she de- 
cides to close her life of single blessedness and commit matrimony. 

Such was the prescribed course which Irene had marked out for her 
lovely sister Elsie. Irene had acted the part of a queen in the society at 
Nashville for at least three seasons, and considered herself quite an adept 
in the art of judging as to what attractions a young lady should possess 
in order to win the flattery and caresses of her sphere, and she was con- 
fident that Elsie would from the first command universal attention, 
though she experienced not a little difficulty in impressing her own ideas 
as to the requirements of future happiness upon her sister. Elsie had 
quietly submitted to the whims and dictation of her sister, though at 
times declaring emphatically that she could not see the necessity of so 
much pomp and glitter and parade in order to catch a husband whom 
the world should adjudge to be worthy of her. But Irene steadily held 
up before her the rich, glowing picture of her first season in society and 
the possibilities which a successful debut would open to her for the future. 
Thus it was that Elsie had learned to look forward to the coming winter 
with a considerable degree of pleasure, even if at times she allowed her- 
self to eiitertain some misgivings as to whether she would not soon tire 
of It all and long to return to her sweet village home, where she was 
now living a life of perfect content. 

But this new revelation which Fenton had brought upon her scarce- 
ly seemed real. Long after he had left Tier on the night of his avowal’ 
she sat like one in a dream, endeavoring to imagine what the result 
would be if it was all true, and he was really her lover. Did she really 
care for him now more than when their first meeting was at her father’s 
tea table. Then she had thought him dignified and handsome. His 
manners were pleasant and sociable, and she had been thoroughly charm- 
ed with hiro. Since the day he had saved her life so bravely, and yet so 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


125 


carelessly to himself, he had grown to be ver^ dear to her, and seemed 
as though he were one of the family from whom she could not bear to 
seperate even for a brief period without a feeling of pain and regret. 
But was this the feeling she should bear her husband? Was not the love 
of man and wife something deeper than the sisterly affection which she 
had taught herself that she felt for him for the last year or two? This 
was the question she kept asking herself over and over again, and to 
which she could find no satisfactory answer. And yet she could think of 
no young man whom she bore a stronger liking than she held for 
Fenton. It was true she had long entertained a strong school-girl af- 
fection for Chris Engle, but she felt perfectly conscious that it was noth- 
ing more than this. She had answered the letters which he had written 
to her from his far-away school with a keen relish, because she sympath- 
ized with her former playmate, now so far away from home and friends 
and among entire strangers, and kne\^ that her descriptions of what was 
taking place at Melton possessed considerable interest for him. But 
when those light tasks were over, he ceased to occupy a very large share 
of her busy thoughts. Some day, it is true, she anticipated his final 
home-coming, and knew that unless he had utterly changed in disposition 
and banished all his former good qualities, she would have reason to be 
proud of him, and that he would doubtless some day make a model hus- 
band and worthy of the best affection that might be bestowed upon him. 
As yet, however, she was certain that her present affection for him 
was not that of a sweetheart and in all probability would never become 
so. At least that is what she would have said had she been asked the 
question. 

After she had puzzled over these questions long and deeply, Elsie 
decided it was best for her to throw them off her mind as completely as 
she could for the present, though almost unconsciously she heaved a sigh 
of regret that she had allowed Fenton to take his departure without 
giving him more encouragement than she had done, and perhaps at that 
time, if he had been in her presence, she might have yielded her whole 
heart into his keeping for ever and aye. 

But the bright sun of the morrow, peeping here and there into the 
great Thornton house, found Elsie smiling and happy as ever, and not 
many would have believed that a really serious thought had so recently 
caused her to look grave and solemn. She went about her usual house- 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


u6 


hold duties singing as gay as of yore, and perhaps would have so contin- 
ued all day had she not noted a rather serious look of inquiry upon her 
mother’s usually pleasant face. Finding that it did not wear away as 
soon as she expected, Elsie ventured to inquire if anything was 
wrong. 

Mrs. Thornton said she did not know that there was, but she had 
been waiting patiently for her daughter to tell her who it was that had 
given her the honor of a visit on the evening before, though if she did 
not care to say anything about it she would not press the question. 

Elsie assured her mother with a gleeful little laugh and a kiss, and 
said that she had really thought nothing about the visitor, who was no 
more nor less than Mr. Fenton, upon which her mother’s face cleared up 
instantly as she quiety remarked: 

“It would seem that you take his visits, which have been quite rare 
of late, as a matter of course. I must say that I have looked upon them 
very differently, for while you and frene have been absent from home so 
much, I have found him very pleasant indeed. It is rather strange, 
though, since I come to think of it, after his absence for several weeks, 
that he should come here without asking for your father or myself. 

Now, Elsie would very, much have perferred for her mother to drop 
the subject of Fenton’s visit altogether. She had no desire to deceive 
her, and yet would have chosen not to mention the subject of her own 
and Fenton’s conversation just at present, for she did not wish to place 
her family in the rather strained and awkward position in which she 
found herself, and desired to work out the problem then in her mind en- 
tirely for herself and at her own leisure. However, she was not in the 
habit of keeping any .secret which concerned herself from her dearly 
beloved mother, and often the latter had solved vexing questions for her 
with apparent ease. Why, then, should she not trust her — certainly her 
best earthly friend — now in the most important trial of her life? All 
this passed quickly in her mind, and she decided at once to risk t]ie con- 
sequences and tell her mother all. 

“Mr. Fenton did inquire for papa,” she said; “but just as I was 
about to call him he stopped me, and said that he had something to say 
to me first. We talked together for a long time, and before we finished 
I think papa had retired and so I did not call him.” 

“Oh, then, I understand,” said Mrs. Thornton; “his visit was not so 
unimportant to you after all.” 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 127 


“Indeedit was not, mamma; and I think if you listen patiently I 
wiltell you about the subject of our conversation.” 

Mrs. Thornton quietly agreed to listen and motioned for Elsie to 
proceed. 

“I must begin, then, by telling you something I did a longtime ago 
that I never mentioned before. When Mr, Fenton rescued me from 
drowning, I could not avoid feeling very grateful to him, and wanted to 
show him in some way that I appreciated his kind service. So one day 
I asked him if he would let me be his sister, as I felt towards him as if he 
were a dear brother. He kindly consented to the arrangement, and has 
seemed ever since to treat me with great consideration and kindness. 
On the morning that I left here with Irene to attend school at Nashville, 

I sent him a_ farewell note, asking him to think sometimes of his little 
sister — .” 

“I am sure he has done so,” interrupted Mrs. Thornton, “for he 
never came to visit us without asking especially about your welfare.” 

“I am sure of that,” Elsie went on, “but I was greatly surprised 
last night when he took from his pocket the little note which I had sent 
him, and said that he had kept it in remem berance of the knowledge- 
which came to him that morning, that he no longer cared for me as his 
sister only, but that he desired to make me his wife.” 

“I am rejoiced to hear that,” said her mother, “for I suspected 
as much a long time ago. The poor fellow tried bravely to conceal this 
knowledge from me, but I knew perfectly well that his many visits here 
during your absence were not intended for me alone. He was so anxious 
to hear the slightest remark which you made in your letters, that I was 
often tempted to read them to him, nonsense and all, notwithstanding 
the fact that you had enjoined the strictest secrecy.” 

“I am very thankful that you did not do so at least,” said Elsie 
laughing heartily, “for I am sure they would have entirely disenchanted 
any sweetheart that I ever had.” 

“But you have not told me that you have accepted him, though I 
suppose you deem it quite useless.” 

“No, mother, I did not accept him,” Elsie, said quite seriously, 
“for I am not sure that I love him well enough to marry him.” 

“Then you did perfectly right, Elsie, in not accepting him, though 
I really believed that you loved him dearly.” 


128 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


“Perhaps I can account for the cause of your thinking so. I have 
always hoped from the first that Mr. Fenton and Irene would fall in 
love with each other and get married. This has probably led me to 
treat him more affectionately than I otherwise would have dared to do, 
and doubtless caused you to think I loved him myself. But I have for 
some time been assured that Irene not only does not love him, but posi- 
tively dislikes him, and has even forbidden me even to mention his name 
in her presence. She says she cannot bear him. Of course this is the 
result of prejudice upon her part, though I cannot imagine what caused 
it. She certainly looks upon him as a poor, unknown lawyer, who 
would hardly be likely to make a favorable impression upon the society 
in which she says we are to move. For my part, I consider him suffici- 
ently refined and cultivated to grace any society and have no need to 
feel ashamed of his love in that respect.” 

“You are quite right, my dear,” said Mrs. Thornton, “and as sen- 
sible as I could wish you to be. Somehow I feel that you and Mr. Fen- 
ton were intended for each other, and when the proper time comes for 
you to realize the affection of your own heart you will doubtless love 
him truly and deeply. I am certain this would be as highly gratifying 
to your father as myself. Until that time we will wait in patience, and 
thankful that you are spared to make our old age happy.” 

“Just one request, mamma; do not speak of this subject to papa yet, 
for it might in some way cause him disappointment.” 

“Very well, I will do as you wish, my daughter.” 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


129 


CHAPTER XI. 

The meager friendly relationship which existed between Mr. White’s 
family and the Hobarts previons to the trial at Melton were certainly 
not strengthened by its outcome. At first old man Hubart had loudly 
proclaimed threats of dire vengance against his neighbor across the river, 
but as they were only intended to exhibit a desire as to what he would 
like to do if he only dared, they were finally allowed to pass by unnoticed 
by the White family, and became a subject of ridicule and jest by their 
neighbors. 

Nevertheless, old man Hobart, though he had grown tired of boast- 
ing what he intended to do, was fully capable of doing Mr. White an 
injury if a good opportunity should ever occur, and he was compelled to 
content himself with waiting and scheming for some favorable time 
when he could carry out his threats without danger of exposure, yet in 
a manner that would strike deep into the very heart of his neighbor. 
Just how this injury was to be done, and what its nature was to be, 
formed the subject for many a day’s cogitation in the brain of the wick- 
ed old man, and his immediate family had become well aware that this 
thoughtfulness boded no good for Mr. White from the fact that his face 
was known to become dark with anger when ever his name was mention- 
ed. 

Stephen, the younger of the Hobart boys, loved to roam the mount- 
ains in search of game, and was rarely seen away from home without a 
rifle and pouch slung over his shoulder. He would spend whole days to- 
gether away from home with kindred hunting spirits, and often returned 
loaded down with wild game sufficient to keep the family larder well 
stocked. Stephen was much more gentlemanly and docile in his deport- 
ment than his brother Charles, who was of a gruff and grumbling disposi- 


130 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


tion, more like his father. While Stephen did not care to cultivate the 
acquaintance of the opposite sex in the neighborhood of his family resi- 
dence, perhaps chiefly on account of the questionable reputation which 
his people bore, yet he had been known to act the role of a gallant 
away from home, and was sometimes heard to speak of conquests he had 
made among the feminine sex. 

Stephen owned a neat little skiff which he frequently used to cross 
the river in his hunting expeditions, and hide in the bank on the opposite 
shore until he was prepared to return home. Sometimes he would pull- 
hup along the bank for several miles before crossing the river, and return 
ing would float swiftly down the 'middle of the rapid stream. 

On one of these occasions he had anchored the skiff only a short 
distance above Mr, White’s house, and was returning to look for it early 
in the afternoon, when he espied a bewitchingly pretty girl about 
thirteen years of age sitting on a log under a huge beech tree, and sing- 
ing low and thoughtfully to herself, totally unconscious of Stephen’s 
nearness to her. He stopped short, trying to think who she could possi- 
bly be, and wondering at the rare beauty of her face, clustered about 
with dark, nut brown curls. His natural sense of gallantry, even at the 
sight of a young girl, urged him to make his presence known to her with- 
out delay, but he stood still noting the lovely features and the charms of 
her well developed person, unwilling to deprive himself of the enchanted 
vision. 

In a moment or two, however, the girl chanced to raise her eyes, 
and saw Stephen, when she immediately arose to her feet. Stephen at 
once offered some apology for his unintentional intrusion, and explained 
that he was simply passing by on his way to his boat. The girl blush- 
ingly replied that no harm was done, but she had not heard his approach, 
and at first sight of him she was a little bit frightened. 

Her kind, musical tones at once reassured Stephen, and he made 
bold to ask her if she lived there or was only a visitor, since he had 
never met her before, although he himself lived just across the river, 
giving her his name as Stephen Hobart. 

When he began to ask her if she was only a visitor there, the girl 
felt strongly inclined to burst out into a good laugh, but as soon as he 
mentioned that his name was Stephen Hobart, she at once became more 
reserved in her manner, and at first seemed to dou^*" whether she w^§ 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


131 


doing right in giving him her name. But presently she said, in not so 
friendly a voice as she had spoken at first. 

“I am not a visitor here, fori have lived' several years in the 
house just below us with my uncle, Mr. White, and my name is Flora 
Hexam.” 

It was true, though Stephen had lived so near to the White family 
the greater part of his life, and had often heard mention made of the 
niece, yet he had never met her before, because of the non-intercourse 
between the two families, and Flora rarely left home even on a visit to 
their nearest neighbors. Thus they met as utter strangers to each other, 
and it would seem under all the existing circumstances that they might 
as well part just as they had met, for Stephen felt certain that Mr. White 
would, if he was aware of it, forbid his niece from forming the acquaint- 
ance of any member of the Hobart family, while the repugnance to such 
a course would be equally great upon his father’s side. 

Something, however, possessed the mind of Stephen to know more 
about the beautiful girl before he quitted her altogether, and he thought 
probably he might never have a better opportunity. He thought the 
reserve she assumed was perfectly natural when he remembered the rela- 
tion existing between the two families, and his first idea was to test the 
depth with which she shared her uncle’s antipathy to his father. So he 
asked: 

“I suppose. Miss Flora, you have been forbidden to make the ac- 
quaintance of a member of the Hobart family? 

“No, I do not recollect anything of the kind, but I know that 
Uncle John doesn’t like your father,” she answered frankly. 

“But I hope you do not feel any ill-will toward me on that ac- 
count,” said Stephen. 

“No, I do not see why I should,” answered Flora relentingly. 

“You seem to think more of the trees and birds than you do of the 
house such weather as this.” 

“Indeed I do,” said Flora. “It is so dull at the house, and I get 
tired of seeing only Aunt Susan all day long, so I come up here for a 
change.” 

Stephen began to understand the craving desire of the girl for play- 
mates and companionship, and to feel an interest in her lonely condition, 
Xle saw immediately the opportunity presented tP him to cultivate liPi 


132 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


acquaintance, even without the consent of her guardian or the knowledge 
of his own people, the only thing necessary being to create in her an in- 
terest for himself sufficient to overcome her fear of meeting him alone in 
the woods. He asked her to resume her seat on the log, and sat down 
beside her, beginning to explain at length how he had been roaming 
over the mountain in search of game, rowing across the river in his skiff, 
and was on his way back again when he suddenly found her sitting under 
the tree. It was not long before the reserve with which Flora had 
treated him at first began to wear away, and she soon found herself chat- 
ting with him quite freely, as if she were glad of his companionship and 
would regret to have him leave her. 

It was not long before Stephen had heard all the little story of her 
own life which Flora knew, and he was soon aware that she had not re- 
ceived the kind consideration and training that was due to young girls 
at her age, now so soon to ripen into womanhood. Flora did not stop to 
question the character of the young man sitting by her side, for he cer- 
tainly did not appear to her to belong to a family of which she had often 
heard her uncle speaking in such discouraging terms. To her he seemed 
a pleasant and agreeable companion, who was at more pains to give her 
real pleasure than anyone she had met for a long time, unless it was the 
good and kind Mr. Fenton, who occasionally visited her uncle’s home. 

Stephen watched with pleasure the glowing countenance and bright 
eyes of the girl, as he praised her beauty, stroked her brown curls, and 
charmed her with his pleasant manner. Truly Stephen thought he had 
never yet met a mountain girl possessing half the rare charms of Flora. 
Her laughter was music itself, and tho’ her words were simple and un- 
studied yet they were charming to his ear. He did not forget, too, to 
notice the smallness of her hands and feet, and the fullness of her 
rounded form, as she swayed before him with the freedom characteris- 
tic of the mountain lassie. 

Thus they chatted together until the sun was sinking low in the 
west, and Flora started up in alarm, fearing a scolding from her aunt for 
staying away so long from her work. Stephen caught her hand as she 
arose, and asked if he might be allowed to meet her again on another 
afternoon, when they might have a longer chat together. Flora readily 
agreed that he might come whenever he pleased, and thus they seper- 
ated, each full of thoughts concerning the pleasant hour they had spent 
in the other’s society. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


i33 


To Flora this had been the pleasantest time she had spent in the 
society of another for many a long, dreary day, and it was one that she 
was destined never to forget in after life. The flowers of youth may 
wither and decay, but the rememberance of their existence lingers amid 
the bitter trials and discontented winters of old age, even down to the 
verge of the silent grave. There were not many bright oases in the 
young life of Flora Hexam to which she might look back with 
pleasure in the coming years, and oftentimes thereafter did she count 
them easily off on her fingers, though it would have been no great task 
in mental arithmetic to close her hand while counting. 

Stephen probably did not long so mach for companionship as he did 
for a sight of the nymph he had surprised in the woods, though for several 
days after the meeting referred to his duties at home prevented him from 
framing an excuse for scouring the woods after game. Nearly a week 
had elapsed before he again found himself rowing across the stream, 
with his gun by his side. No sooner, however, did he gain the opposite 
shore than he gave up all pretense of hunting game, and betook himself 
straight to the spot where he had seen Flora, She was no where to be 
seen, and he threw himself down under the shade of the great beech, 
hoping that he might get a sight of her before very long. 

He waited thus in patience for an hour, and finally being tired and 
somewhat overcome with heat, he fell into a semi-unconscious doze. He 
had not remained long, thus, however, before the light through his eye- 
lids seemed to grow dark and a hand touch his face. His eyes im- 
mediately opened and he recognized Flora stooping over him and laugh- 
ing, Before she could withdraw her hand, Stephen had reached up and 
seized her arm and gently but firmly drew her down toward him, when 
quick as thought he threw his other arm around her neck and kissed her 
full upon the lips. Flora’s face flushed crimson, and she struggled to 
get away, though Stephen saw that she was not angry. Holding her 
firmly, he kissed her twice again, and then released her. 

Flora at first seemed bewildered by this sudden action of Stephen’s 
but appeared to feel no resentment toward him, and in a moment or two 
took a seat upon the log, and began to question him as to why he had 
remained away so long. Stephen arose to his feet and took a seat beside 
her, explaining why he had not been able to come, and inquiring if she* 
had missed him very much. Flora replied that she had missed him ever 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 




so much, and had about concluded that he was not coming again to see 
her. 

At this confession of Flora’s together with the easy manner with 
which she had received his first caresses, Stephen began to feel that she 
could not object to other exhibitions of his admiration for her, and in a 
few moments he stole an arm about her waist and drew her gently to- 
ward him. Flora struggled a little to draw herself away from him, but 
he held her fast, and ere long she yielded herself to the pressure of his 
arm and nestled down against his side. Thus they sat together and 
talked until it was time for Flora to return to the house, and after a 
parting kiss they again seperated until the following day. 

And thus day after day they met together, alone in the woods, and 
it was not long ere they became aware that their friendship had ripened 
into love. Flora began to recognize the fact that though young in years, 
she was a girl no longer, and possessed a woman’s heart. At first she 
submitted to the caresses of young Hobart as those coming from a 
childish playmate, but now she was beginning to realize that she did not 
seem to him as a child. She had grown to be unusally large for a girl 
of her age, and had it not been for the somewhat childish expression of 
her face, she would have easily been mistaken for a woman fully matured. 
Nevertheless, she had given Stephen the full affection of her heart, and 
continued to receive his caresses with the fondness she had shown him 
at first. 

But how was it with Stephen himself? Was he indeed pouring out 
to her the pure love of an honest heart, or was he seeking to while away 
his idle hours with Flora as a mere pastime? He had asked himself this 
question very often, and over and over again, without receiving a defi- 
nite answer, or coming to a wise conclusion. He merely contented him- 
self for the present with feasting his eyes upon her pure, innocent beauty 
and showering endearing caresses upon her. He had never sought to 
make provision for the care of a wife. He was conscious of the fact 
that he had never given a serious thought to the question of marriage, 
and yet, though he knew he was constantly treading upon dangerous 
ground, he continued to take advantage of his opportunity for stolen in- 
terviews, and did not hestitate to exhibit his passion for Flora. 

But winter must eventually follow autumn, and ere long the icy 
blasts of the north wind put an end to the stolen trysts at least for that 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


135 


year, and for weeks together the lovers had no opportunity for their 
secret meetings. 

As had always been the custom with Flora, since her residence with 
the White family, she passed a miserable winter, the only gleam of con- 
solation coming from the fact that Stephen loved her, and she longed 
for the bright warm days of spring when the trees would spread out their 
immense overhanging leaves, and make glad the spot where she could 
look without fear upon the face of her devoted lover. 

At last the welcome days of springtime returned, and the warm 
rains of April caused the woods and ground to be covered with a beauti- 
ful green, the happy birds flew here and there, and all nature seemed to 
waken from its wintry repose. Then it was that Flora began to watch 
anxiously for a sight of Stephen, whom she had not seen for so many 
long weeks. She, too, had grown lovelier with the return of spring. A 
bright warm glow suffused her cheeks and brightened the luster of her eyes. 
She had grown taller and rounder than ever, and every action denoted 
the fact that she was a full grown woman, and possessed all of a woman’s 
charms. 

It was near the beginning of May, when upon Flora’s going to the 
woods one afternoon, she saw Stephen seated upon the old log under the 
beech, with his back turned toward her. She walked hastily forward to 
greet him and when quite near him he turned his head and caught her in 
his arms. Many were the caresses he showered upon her and compli- 
mented her improved appearance. Stephen had by this time thoroughly 
studied the art of pleasing her, and knew that she was not averse to the 
praise of her charms, and thus they whiled away the afternoon in the 
pleasant old way of the previous autumn, and when they seperated in 
the evening Flora felt that he was dearer to her than he had ever 
seemed before. 

There was little thought or care for the future in the many stolen 
interviews which followed each other in rapid succession during that 
summer. All happiness for Flora centered in the love and presence of 
Stephen, and he rarely caused her disappointment. But both were silent 
in their respective homes as to the happy hours whiled away beneath the 
beech tree. Flora was perfectly conscious that her uncle and aunt 
would not approve of her actions evincing such a loving friendship to- 
ward a member of the Hobart family, and would doubtless cut her 


136 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


pleasure very short should they discover the truth, while Stephen on the 
other hand, was well aware that his father would set him adrift at short 
notice if he had known of his predilections for any one belonging to the 
despised Whites. 

It is simply a matter of conjecture how long these meetings would 
have remained undiscovered, so unlikely was it that any person should 
happen to pass that way, had it not been for the suspicions of Charles 
Hobart, who began to wonder what it was that caused his brother to so 
often follow the same route when looking for game, notwithstanding 
that he invariably returned home without securing any. No sooner did 
a suspicion enter his mind that Stephen had another object in view 
than searching for game ihan he resolved to find out what his object 
was. 

One day, after watching Stephen row across the river, he secured 
another canoe and crossed the stream at another point lower down, and 
then rowed up along the bank until he had nearly reached the point 
where his brother lauded. From thence he crept carefully up under the 

• trees until he discovered the footprints which his brother had ntade. 
Discovering that they led along the bank and still further up, he followed 
them for several hundred yards, keeping himself well concealed beneath 
the low branches of the large beeches. Soon he heard voices, and when 
he had drawn a little nearer he knew that one was Stephen’s although 
he could not see him. 

Silently he crept nearer to the beech under which the young man 
and maiden were seated, and secured a position where he could both 
hear and see them without himself being seen. Charles knew at once 
that the girl belonged to Mr. White’s household, having seen her pre- 
viously, but she had grown considerably since he last saw her. He did 
~ not know her name, only having heard a rumor that she was a relative. 

* Of course he now fully understood why Stephen had been so non-com- 
municative regarding his hunting trips, though he could not understand 
why he should receive so much encouragement from Flora. He realized 
that Flora’s beauty had bewitched his brother, and after listening for 
sometime to their loving conversation, determined not to interrupt them, 
but to return home as quietly as he came. 

Charles Hobart had a disposition like his father, in that he was re- 
vengful, jealous and pettish to an unpleasant degree. The two brothers 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


*37 


were not always on pleasant terms with each other, and Charles was very 
prone to think that his younger brother was shown more favoritism and 
allowed more privileges by his father than himself. There may have 
•been times and circumstances under which Charles would have felt 
called upon to shield his brother in wrong-doing and against a common 
enemy, but just now he was offered an opportunity of paying off some 
of his old scores and taking Stephen down a notch or two in the esti- 
mation of his father. Accordingly he did not hesitate to acquaint his 
father with what he had seen and heard regarding his brother’s social re- 
lationship with a member of their enemy’s family. 

^ To the complete surprise of Charles, his father received this piece 
of information without any show of anger. In truth, he seemed rather 
pleased with the progress which his younger son was making in his love 
affair, and by the way in which he chuckled quietly to himself for awhile 
it was evident that he intended to interpose no obstacle in his pathway. 

“Nothing would suit me better,” he said presently, “than for them 
to make a match. I rather think that would humble John White and 
his smart wife more than anything else. But be careful to say nothing 
to mammy about it. She would soon let the cat out.” 

He said no more to Charles at the time, but waited until Stephen’s 
return later in the evening. When he saw him coming the old man 
motioned him into a side room, out of hearing of his mother, and shut 
and fastened the door. 

Stephen wonderingly complied with his request, conscious that 
something unusual was about to occur, yet never thinking that it related 
so directly to himself. He perceived that his father was not angry, for 
if he had been he would have reasoned that his recent actions had been 
betrayed and had furnished the cause. His father’s first inquiry, how- 
ever, soon undeceived him. 

“What sort of game have you been hunting lately?” 

“Why nothing in particular,” replied Stephen growing somewhat 
confused.” Why do you ask?” 

“Because I want to know how long it will be until the wedding,” 
said his father gravely. 

“What do I know about a wedding?” inquired his son. 

“Oh, I supposed that you had found out all about it by this time. 
I understand that you have been talking to White’s niece upon this sub- 


138 


A DIXIE GI^Nt LEMAN. 


ject a good deal lately,” and a sort of roguish twinkle in the old man’s 
eyes convinced Stephen that he had nothing to fear from owning up to 
the truth. 

“But who has told you all this, dad?” inquired Stephen. 

“Oh, Charles ran across you over in the woods. But I imagine you 
would have had a fine time of it if old White had come across you first. 
Did he agree for his niece to meet you in the woods. 

“Of course not. I expect he would thrash her severely if he knew 
of it. . 

“But how did she consent to meet you, knowing how mad White 
would be?” 

“Why, I met her accidentally one day while out hunting, and soon 
found that she was so lonesome that she was w'illing to take almost any 
risk in order to have company. 

“Is the girl willing to marry you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then wiry don’t you get married at once?” 

Now, Stephen had asked himself this question more than once, but 
had never been able to form a satisfactory answer. In the first place, 
he realized his complete dependence upon his father, and without his 
aid did not dare to brave the hardships necessary for him to procure an 
independent living. And again he knew that his marriage with Flora 
would necessitate their removal to some other county, since it would not 
only incur the displeasure of Mr. and Mrs. White but also that of his 
father, and that he would consequently be thrown entirely upon his own 
resources to maintain himself and wife, which, added to the fact that he 
knew almost nothing of any useful occupation, seemed to present diffi- 
culties almost insurmountable to an inexperienced person like him- 
self. 

To his father’s query he replied that he was not able to support 
himself, to say nothing of providing for a wife. Besides this he was not 
sure that Flora could be persuaded to marry him without her relatives’ 
consent, and he knew it would be impossible to obtain that. 

“A farthing for their consent,” replied old man Hobart, frowning 
as he recollected his old hatred for them. “Go and tell the girl that if 
she will run away with you that you will marry her at your first oppor- 
tunity, and I will provide you with horses to carry you over the mount- 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


13 *) 

- 

ains. You can then go to Charleston, where an old friend of mine lives, 
and I will give you sufficient means so that he can start you into some 
business. What do you say fo that?” 

“I am willing,” Stephen said cheerfully, “and I will go to-morrow 
and try to get Flora’s consent. How soon can you get ready for us to 
start?” 

“To-morrow night, if you say so.” 

Stephen was willing to this arrangement, and the father and son 
joined the rest of the family at supper, although the old man could hardl y 
- restrain himself from giving vent to his joy at the prospect of turning 
the tables against his old enemy. 



A Dixii: gentLemam. 


1 4.0 


CHAPTER XII. 

Stephen arrived promptly at the beech tree on the day following 
at the usual hour for meeting Flora, but she was already there awaiting 
his coming. She was in her usual happy mood, and her trusting confi- 
dence in her reckless young lover was perhaps never before or afterward 
so full as at that time. Surely, he thought, never could he have had a 
more auspicious time for the proposition which he had come to make. 

“Flora” he said, after he had returned her loving salutation a nd 
they had taken their seat upon the log, “I have some news for you. 
See if you can guess what it is.” 

“I am sure I can not,” she answered, looking a little puzzled 
through her bright eyes. 

“Well, then I guess I will tell you. I am going away.” 

The crimson which had suffused Flora’s happy face at once forsook 
her cheeks and she almost gasped for breath. His words had given her 
the first real fright that he had ever caused her. She soon recovered 
herself, however, and asked him if he was going to stay away very long. 

“Yes,” he said, “for all I know, i^may be forever.” 

“You don’t mean that you are going to leave me hero all alone?” 
asked Flora, rather excitedly. 

“Oh, no! I didn’t say anything about that, did i, little pet? 
But after all it is for you to decide whether I shall leave you here or 
take you with me.” 

“Then I can decide that very easily,” said Flora, lovingly. “For I 
will gladly go with you anywhere in the world. But you really 
frightened me at first when I thought of you leaving me so that I would 
never .®?e you again.” 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


141 

“But what I wish to know, is whether you will go with me at once, 
this very night, and without letting anyone know that you are going.” 

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t like to do that. It would be wrong to leave 
my uncle and aunt without bidding them goodbye. Don’t you think 
so?” 

“Did you ever think it was wrong to meet me alone in the woods 
day after day, without their knowledge or consent?” he asked, slyly 
watching her between his half-closed eyelids. 

“I have not thought it was wrong to meet you since I have found 
you so good and kind, though of course we know our families do not 
like each other, and for that reason I have not told my people about our 
meetings here. Besides they have never asked me why I was coming, 
as it has been my habit since childhood to come out in the woods. But 
you know that I could not go away with you until we are married. Then 
they would have no right to stop us.” 

“True enough.” Stephen replied, “and that is the point I was com- 
ing to. Of course you know that your relatives would not give their 
consent to your marriage with me, and we will be compelled to marry 
without their consent or seperate now and forever.” 

“I could not bear to seperate from you,” replied Flora, tearfully. 
“Why do you wish to go away?” 

Stephen did not answer Flora’s question in a straightforward way, 
for that would have shown his father’s object in urging his marriage too 
plain for his present purpose. He simply expressed his own wishes 
when he said: 

“I am going away to better my prospects, if possible. My father 
has offered me the means to start into business, provided I will go away 
and make the start at once. I have long felt that I was entirely too 
dependent upon him, and now that I have an opportunity I must go at 
once. And if you are willing to go with me, meet me here to-night and 
I will take you across the river, where our horses will be waiting. We 
will start over the mountains for the East, and when we reach the first 
railway station we will get married, and leave on the train for Washing- 
ton. Now what do you say?” 

“I think I will go with you?” Flora answered, as if almost doubt- 
ing herself, “for it would be impossible for me to stay here without you 


now. 


142 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


“Then go home now at once, and quietly make what preparations 
you can, and at nine o’clock to-night, if the house is all quiet meet me 
here beneath this tree. I have two good horses that will carry us safely 
over the mountains and then we will make our way to New York, 
where we can live without danger of discovery for a long time to come. 
Now kiss me, pet, and go at once.” 

Flora did as she was desired, a6d soon after Stephen returned home 
and reported to his father that all was well, and that he would immedi- 
ately prepare to leave home that night without letting the remainder of 
the family know anything about it. The old man gave him the money 
he had promised, and aided his son in every possible way in making 
preparations for the journey. The plan was for Stephen to take the 
two horses over the mountain and then return them home again by a 
special messenger, after avoiding all danger of pursuit. 

It would be useless to attempt to portray the feelings of Flora 
Hexam at such a time. She was conscious of a vague, undefinable feel- 
ing of wrong-doing that it was impossible for her to properly analyze. 
She was perfectly aware of a sense of duty to her relatives, who had 
cared for her these many years without hope of reward. Again and again 
she was tempted to fall down at her aunt’s feet and pour out to her the 
burden of her young heart. She could not explain to herself why this 
desire possessed her, and yet strive as she would she could not utterly 
banish it from her thoughts. 

And yet her great overwhelming love for Stephen brushed down 
every barrier that rose up before her. She had promised to do as he 
wished, and let it cost her what it might she was firmly resolved to leave 
all and go with him w;herever he would. She felt that death itself would 
be preferable to life without his presence and his smile. Before she had 
met him, life to her, or at least the greater part of it, had been a dreary 
affair indeed. She longed for the sunshine of life, to see happy smiles 
and to listen to cheerful laughter. Indeed she was a fitting companion 
for the birds that she used to lovingly watch in the trees above her. 

But now all this was changed. What was charning to her before 
was as nothing now. Her real joy was in* the presence of Stephen, and 
she believed that she could not live without him. Yes, she would go 
with him, for she could not stay even though she would, and her girlish 
trust in the promises of future happiness which he made to her was full 
and complete. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


H3 

Before nine o’clock had arrived on that eventful night, a peaceful 
quiet reigned over the White household, and all save one of the occu- 
pants was wrapped in a deep slumber. Promptly at the hour named 
Flora made her way silently out of the house, carrying in her hand a 
little bundle of clothing and the purse which her mother had given her, 
containing a hundred dollars. She had once offered this money to her 
Uncle John when he was wishing that he had-a little more funds to 
finish making a payment on some land, but the offer was refused so ab- 
ruptly that Flora never ventured to renew it again, and since that time 
she had had no occasion to use it for herself, as her few wants had al- 
ways been well supplied. 

When she arrived at the beech tree in the thick forest. Flora was 
rejoiced to find her lover in waiting, and without a moment’s delay he 
hurried her down to the river and placed her in his skiff, and in a few 
momeiits more they were safe upon the opposite bank, where they soon 
found the horses tied under a tree. Lifting Flora into her saddle, 
Stephen loosened the horses from the tree and mounted his own. It 
was not long before they had turned into the narrow mountain road, and 
the horses were urged forward at a good speed. All that night the 
couple traveled on, sometimes forced to go very slow where the road was 
very hilly, and again moving on at a rapid rate. When daylight ap- 
peared they halted at a house and bought some food for the horses, al- 
though they tarried but a few moments for fear of being questioned. 
When out of sight of the dwelling, they stopped again near a spring of 
water and fed the horses, also partaking of some light food themselves 
which Stephen had provided. After resting here a short while, they 
were once more in the saddle, and did not stop again until one o’clock 
in the day, when, completely fatigued with the long and rough mountain 
ride, they arrived*at a small town on the railroad by which they were to 
reach their destination. 

Stephen had promised Flora that as soon as they arrived at the sta- 
tion he would procure a minister and have the marriage ceremony per- 
formed. This promise he endeavored to fulfill, being rather anxious 
lest pursurers were on their track, and would try to prevent Flora from 
marrying him. But it was discovered that to procure a license it would 
be necessary to travel a distance of several miles to the county-seat, and 
that would cause them to miss the only train for that day, which was 


144 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


due in about two hours. As they would arrive in Washington that 
night, it was decided to wait for the marriage until they should reach 
that city. 

A refreshing meal was procured, and arrangements made to return 
the horses to old man Hobart, after which Stephen acted with more 
freedom, feeling that he had successfully baffled all opportunity fora 
successful pursuit, even if such a thing should be undertaken, which he 
really did not believe would be done. 

The train soon arrived, and with tickets purchased for Washington 
the couple were caught up and whirled along at a rapid rate. Flora, 
exhausted from her long, sleepless ride, soon nestled her head on Ste- 
phen’s arm and was lost in slumber. As Stephen looked down upon the 
girl, lying there so confidently, he realized as never before the responsi- 
bility he had voluntarily taken upon himself. He had never been pos- 
sessed with a feeling of over confidence in his own abilities, and he^could 
uot refrain from wondering at his own audacity and assumption. What 
assurance did he have that he was capable of fulfilling the trust reposed 
in him as the prospective head of a family? He did not doubt that he 
would be compelled to fall back upon his father’s assistance. But while 
that would have been sufficient for a home in the mountains such as he 
was now leaving would his father be able to give him sufficient snpport for 
a more expensive home in the city? With his limited knowledge of the 
business world, was he likely even to be partially successful? Such 
thoughts came to him seriously now for the first time, and his inability 
to settle the questions satisfactorily in his own mind, perhaps, gave 
origin to the cowardly idea of deserting his trust, which afterward grew 
into such formidable shape. 

It was long after midnight when the train reached Washington, 
and by the time the young couple had been conveyed to a hotel day was 
beginning to break. They decided that the hour was too late for them 
to try to sleep, and accordingly they waited in the parlor until the 
breakfast hour. In the meantime they had leisure for ample observa- 
tion to convince them of their shortcomings in the matter of dress and 
other city ways. The couple from the country did not escape the mean- 
ing smiles of hotel waiters and loiterers more than is ordinarily the case. 
The strangeness of their surroundings, the incongruity of their appear- 
ance and the necessity of a change of dress in conformity with newer 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


45 


patterns grew upon them as the moments passed, and when the morning 
meal was over Stephen proposed, as the fitst order of business, that they 
should purchase some ready made clothing. The next three or four hours 
was devoted to this purpose, and finally resulted in enabling them to ap- 
pear in a very presentable condition. When they returned to the hotel 
a marked change in their treatment was observed, and when the request 
was made that a minister be sent for, plainly indicating that a wedding 
was about to occur, the affability of the waiters and the sociability of 
the idle guests increased wonderfully. 

The minister arrived shortly before noon, the ceremony being per- 
formed immediately thereafter, and one after another of the guests were 
introduced and extended their congratulations. So that when an im- 
promptu wedding dinner was announced the young runaways really be- 
gan to feel as though an embarkation upon the wide and stormy sea of 
matrimony was not such a terrible affair after all. 

It was not until a day or so after the wedding that Stephen found 
time to count the cost of the hotel politeness and affability. The bills of 
the hotel proper was amazingly large in Stephen’s eyes, but to this there 
were coupons of almost endless variety. In fact, Stephen’s amount of 
available cash was reduced so materially that he immediately hastened 
their departure for New York. When they arrived there they sought 
out a plain, cheap lodging house, and with little delay Stephen set out to 
look for work. Without knowing what he was best qualified to do, 
it must be admitted that he had a most difficult task before him. He 
was singularly fortunate, however, in a few days, in securing a menial 
position in a large warehouse. But the pay was insignificant .and the 
work far more laborious than Stephen had ever been known to perform. 
His dislike for hard labor, even with a prospect for advancement, caused 
him to give up the situation m a short time, starting out again in search 
of lighter employment. 

On finding his means running short, Stephen had applied to his 
father for another appropriation, as he did not wish to go to Charleston 
without enough money to embark in some business for himself, in which 
he aimed to secure the advice and co-operation of his father’s old friendf^ 
He had not mentioned his intention to go to Charleston to Flora, as at 
first he had not determined whether he would like to stay at New York 
best. But he had received no reply from his father, and he was ere long 
reduced to the point of accepting hard labor or starving, since he found 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


146 


that, minus at least a good recommendation, it would be impossible to 
obtain an easy place. 

It did not take many weeks to convince Stephen that, with so little 
experience, he was no match for the competitors among whom he was 
thrown in a great city. Then he was completely disheartened. One 
night he returned home with his troubles drowned in liquor. When 
Flora attempted to console and encourage him hr grew angry, raised his 
clenched fist, and dealt her a powerful blow. She sank to the floor in a 
swoon, and blood came from between, her lips. 

Partially sobered, Stephen bent down and gazed at her white face. 
Then an awful fear came over him, for he believed in a dazed way that 
he was a murderer. His next cowardly thought was as to how he should 
escape the consequences of his crime. Possessing none of the elements 
of true bravery, and without sufficient moral training to enable him to 
comprehend principles of real manhood, it is not surprising that he 
thought only of his own safety, his great fear for the time overshadowing 
all the love he held for the beautiful girl, now lying senseless at his feet. 

He gathered a few things that he could carry with him easily, took 
what was left of the hundred dollars belonging to Flora as an aid to his 
escape, and went out into the night, probably without one thought at 
first as to where his steps would lead him. Thus he forsook the jewel 
with which heaven had blessed him, all unworthy as his life had been, 
proving how utterly unable a man is to battle with adversity who lacks 
the dicipline and moral training so necessary to successful manhood. 

Poor Flora, charmed as she had been with the gloss of sociability 
and inexperience with the requirements of the world, could not penetrate 
beneath the gay exterior of Stephen and understand his deficiencies, his 
inability as a provider and the power to maintain his position as the 
head of a family. He had struggled it was true, but more from necessity 
than inclination to honor the woman who had intrusted herself to his 
keeping — a struggle far too brief and insufficient to merit success. Had 
he been actuated by a single unselfish principle and spurred on and afresh 
by the noble burden he had assumed, he might have aroused a spark of 
sympathy when judgment came to be passed upon his endeavor. As it 
was, there did not remain one redeeming feature. 

For several hours the poor girl remained as her cruel young husband 
had left her, and who shall say but that a kind, though nnseen protector 


A bi^ciE oentleMaM. 147 

r- - , r* 

had bereft her of all setise. When consciousness returned at last she 
with great difftculty realized where she was. And even when she re- 
membered Stephen’s morose condition, bis anger, and the blow that 
had descended so fiercely upon her head, still she could not understand 
the horror of what had followed. She saw that he had again left the 
room, but did not dream that he would never return. Raising herself to 
a sitting position, slie then managed to reach the bed and lay her aching 
head upon a pillow. Thus she remained for an indifinite time, expect- 
ing each moment that Stephen would return and seek her forgiveness 
for his cruelty. 

Flora would have forgiven him freely, for when he had entered 
the room she knew something was wrong and that he acted totally un- 
like his former self. She had quickly perceived that he was downcast 
and discouraged, although she did not know he had been drinking. She 
now hoped that when he returned he would be like his former self, and 
full of sorrow at his rashness. Yet while she listened for his returning 
footsteps she heard a clock peal forth the hour of two. Weak and sick 
from the effects of the blow she received, yet she sprang from the bed in 
alarm. What did it mean? she asked herself. Why did not Stephen 
come back to her? She must go and seek him at once. But where? 
Where could he be at that late hour? 

She knew nothing comparatively of the dangers surrounding a 
stranger in New York, or of the hundred chances to one that she would 
never see him, but like a flash she now realized how helpless she was to 
prosecute any search for him. She did not know in what dtrection to 
take the first step beyond the rude building which had given them shelter. 


A DIXIE gentleman. 




CHAPTER XIII. 

When the Hon. Robert Fenton left Elsie Thornton’s side on the 
night of his election, he scarcely knew whether to feel happy or sad. 
Most men at his time of life, having been crowned with such a distin- 
guished honor as a seat in the highest councils of the nation offered him, 
would most probably for the time being, have cast aside all other con- 
siderations and giving themselves up entirely to rejoicing at the glowing 
prospects of their future career. But Fenton was noted for his ability 
to curb excitement and keep cool upon the most trying occasions, and 
even his next-door neighbor would not have been surprised at seeing him 
walking along the street as he was then doing with his head bent down 
in deep study and his hands folded calmly behind him. 

He was wondering how long he would have to wait for Elsie’s an- 
swer. Oh, how deeply and fervently he loved her at that moment. 
Her dimpled face was pictured and pinioned before his eyes. Turn his 
head whichever way he would in the black darkness of the night, she 
was always before him, laughing and teasing him for his impatience. 
How long it seemed to him he had waited, and how hard the prospect be- 
fore him. Why could she not have given him more encouragement and 
comfort? And yet he reverently respected her truthfulness to herself and 
toward him. He had not asked her for lip service; he had no craving 
for that kind of devotion. But he did so long for the overflowing devo- 
tion of her pure, honest heart. Would she — nay, would Heaven deny 
him that? He firmly resolved that he would never give her up while 
there was hope, and certainly there was much cause for hope yet. He 
would struggle bravely on amid his ever increasing duties. In fact, that 
constant toil was far better for his peace of mind than to give himself 
up entirely to thoughts of what the outcome would finally be. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


149 


And so he settled down to the new duties now presented to him 
with the same vigor of mind and body that had brought him such abund- 
ant success in the years that were left behind him. He began to pore 
over musty old congressional documents with the same eagerness that he 
had formerly searched through the long list of references in his law cases, 
and to dive after the history of certain bills with the same perversity he 
had formerly employed in hunting up witnesses who knew something of 
importance to his client. 

There was a remarkable comparison between the employment of the 
present congressman-elect and that of Lawyer Joran when he was first 
elected. The latter had immediately set himself down to the agreeable 
task of concocting schemes which would most probably result in his 
second election, while Fenton ignored that subject altogether, and 
seemed intent upon the task of crowding as much valuable service into 
the next two years as it was possible for him to do, and as though that 
were all that he expected to be called upon to perform. 

J-udge Thornton gave him valuable assistance in his training for the 
new routine of duties which he was about to undertake and Fenton 
proved such an apt pupil under the ex-congressman’s instructions that 
he soon began to formulate some important measures which he deter- 
mined to advocate with all the zeal that .he possessed when he should 
come to take his seat in congress. 

The fall season was nearing its close and the chilly winds of Decem- 
ber were occasionally felt as they hurried up in their cruel chase after 
the soft, pleasant zephyrs of the southland autumn. Elsie Thornton 
had left Melton for the gay and busy city— teeming with its life and 
bustle and merry with its rounds of fashion — her schoolgixd follies and 
ideas of life and view the world from an altogether different standpoint — 
that of a full-blowh maiden of fashion. 

Within a few days after her ai rival in the city, invitations were 

received by Irene and her sister to one of the first parties of the season, 
which numbers of the most prominent society people of Nashville and 
some visitors from other cities were to attend. This was to be the oc- 
casion of Elsie’s introduction, and Irene did her utmost to make it cred- 
itable to herself and what, according to her idea, was due to the family. 
It is hardly mecessary to describe the appearance of the young ladies 
themselves or the manner in which they were received at this distin- 
guished gathering. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


150 


From the moment of their appearance in the grand drawing-room 
they proved the center of attraction for all eyes, and the rare loveliness 
of Elsie caused her to be voted the most charming acquisition of the 
season to the' society circles of Nashville. Numerous gentleman ac- 
quaintances of Irene hastened to bow their acknowledgements to her in 
order to claim an introduction to Elsie and the latter was soon under- 
going the terrible process of endeavoring to be equally entertaining to a 
number of admirers at once. 

Irene was overjoyed at her sister’s success, which was even more 
pronounced than her’s had been three winters before, and she became 
almost dizzy with excitement as she began to realize the brilliant pros- 
pect which rose up before them, and the opportunities which would now 
most certainly be presented to them to attain her ambitious desires. Her 
whole soul was wrapped up in a project to make wealthy alliances for 
herself and sister, for while she had not been wanting for offers of mar- 
riage herself, yet she had not accepted, as they were not nearly so eligible 
as she desired, and now she thought she would have a valuable help- 
meet in the beauty of Elsie, and they could scheme together for the 
same object. 

True she did not acquaint Elsie with all the plans which she had 
long ago formed in her own mind concerning her brilliant projects, but 
it was part of them to surround Elsie with a circle of wealthy admirers, 
excite her interest in their rivalry and attention to herself, and then di- 
rect her in her in her choice so that she could not err in selecting the 
most available matrimonial candidate. She knew Elsie’s nature too well 
to acquaint her with these designs upon herself. Her sister had readily 
believed, or at least pretended to believe, the argument which Irene made 
that it was essential for all young ladies to show themselves to the best 
advantage in making their entree into society, but Irene had reserved 
other details of her plans until the interest of her sister had been properly 
aroused, and she should begin to show some appreciation of the enchant- 
ing life of which she was then enjoying such a glimpse. 

But hush ! the name of a new arrival is announced at the door, yet 
the buzz of the busy conversation is so strong that nothing like a name 
could be identified. In a moment more, however, the hostess is seen 
walking across the salon, leaning upon the arm of a handsome, dignified- 
looking young stranger. The gentleman’s appearance has attracted gen- 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


eral attention, and frequent questions are asked as to who he can be. 
That he is not an utter stranger to society is evident from his easy bear- 
ing and polite demeanor, but then he is certainly not a familiar figure 
to the fashionable circles of Nashville. The hostess introduces him to 
some of her special friends first, near the head of the room, explaining 
that he was one of the dear friends 6f her childhood’s Virginia home. 
Gradually, they move down the room, and whispers are clearly heard 
here and there that the young man is the congressman elect from the 
Eighth district. 

Irene recognizes him now, though he has greatly changed, she is 
thinking, since she saw him last. He seems older and graver, and more 
distinguished looking, and his change in style of dress became him well. 
But her eyes leave the figure of the handsome man and search for that 
of Elsie. Soon her sistefr hears his name pronounced and looking up 
sees Fenton slowly approaching the spot where she is standing. Irene 
watches the sudden glow upon her face, which had not previously made 
its appearance there during that evening. She sees her wave aside the 
foppishly-dressed admirers surrounding her, and step eagerly forward to 
grasp Fenton’s hand. She hears her pronounce the name of brother, and 
fancies that she reads therein a deeper meaning than the people about 
her can fathom. And then Irene becomes faint, and hastens from the 
room for a glass of water. At least this is what she says, but in reality 
to shield from her acquaintances the horror of viewing in her face a 
sight of the terrible rage and passion which for the moment has taken 
possession of her. Rage at the knowledge of how all her schemes with 
which she had sought to entangle Elsie must come to naught. 

“The jade!” she hisses between her teeth, “to think she cares 
nothing more for life than to throw herself away upon a mere nobody. 
‘Brother,’ indeed ! Who does she aim to deceive with such a name as that? 
Not me, I am sure, my pretty miss, for I can read your eyes too well for 
that. But there must be a way to seperate them yet, and if there is I 
shall surely find it. I have succeeded thus far in preventing their en- 
gagement, and if I can manage to keep her with me this winter all may 
be well yet. And if she does not listen to me one way she shall another 
for I am determined their marriage shall never be.” 

Thus Irene strove to comfort herself until she had recovered her 
usual self-possession and again sought the parlor. At the door she met 
Elsie coming in search of her, and leaning upon the arm of one of hei 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


new admirers. She said that someone had told her that Irene was ill, 
but the latter laughed as though nothing had happened and assured her 
that it was all a mistake. Irene glanced hurriedly about the room, and 
saw that Fenton was apparently much interested in a conversation with 
the hostess and some gentleman, and inferred from this fact that he and 
Elsie had said no more to each other than she had already overheard, 
Turning to Elsie she said: 

“Could i have been mistaken, or was it really Mr. Fenton whom I 
saw talking to you just awhile ago?’’ 

“You were not mistaken,” said Elsie, looking at her sister keenly 
as though something else had forced itself upon her mind. “Mr. Fenton 
has been invited to deliver an address in the city tomorrow evening, be- 
fore a political club, and being an old acquaintance of our hostess, he 
called at the house and found the party in progress. He was as much 
surprised to see me here as I was to meet him.” 

“L suppose.” said Irene, pretending to be careless, through return- 
ing Elsie’s keen glance, “that it would be difficult to say which was 
the greater pleased.” 

Elsie’s glance fell and her cheek flushed in spite of her effort to ap- 
pear unconcerned, as she said; 

“Of course I was pleased to see him, and to hear that papa and 
mamma were both well. He invited us to accompany him to the club 
meeting to-morrow night at the Opera-house, where he is to speak. 

“Quite a distinguished honor, I am sure,” said her sister rather 
sneeringly. “I hope you had the good sense to beg him to excuse us.” 

“Why certainly not, Irene. You surely would not have me injure 
his feelings by treating him so cooly. And probably this is the only 
chance we will have to be with him previous to his departure for Wash- 
ington, where he will remain for several weeks.” 

“Oh, I have no decided objection to the arrangement,” said Irene, 
who concluded that it would be good policy to make the best of affairs 
that she could until the two were separated, when she would endeavor 
by some means to prevent their meeting again. “Only I thought it 
would seem to be very dull to listen to a political speech.” 

“But papa says,” Elsie continued, “that Mr. Fenton is quite an 
eloquent speaker, and that it is a great treat to hear him,” 

“Yes, certainly, according to papa, he is a perfect paragon of hu- 
manity. But I suppose we do not view him through the same particu- 
lar eye-glass.” 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


153 


The conversation was here interrupted by a couple of gentlemen who 
desired the pleasure of a promenade with the young ladies, and later on 
when Irene and' Fenton met face to face, there was not the least sem- 
blance of the bitter dislike which she had formed toward him, visible 
. upon her fair countenance, now wreathed in smiles, while she spoke to 
him low, kind words of greeting. 

* Why was it that a strange, invisible barrier always rose up between 
the two, no matter when or how they met? Fenton found himself ask- 
ing this question, even while he lightly pressed her extended' hand of 
welcome. She was not now apparently, as at their first meeting, seek- 
ing some way in which to throw a shadow over his character, and some 
how he could not repress the feeling that she would gladly do so if it lay 
in her power, and that she was was only withholding a malicious gleam 
of satisfaction from her eyes until her hand had seized upon the means 
•to crush him and his hopes forever. It is not impossible that this feel- 
ing which possessed him at such times would have taught him instinct- 
ively to avoid her on every hand, but he could explain to himself no sat- 
isfactory reason why he should seek to avoid her, and then he felt that 
she must naturally exert some power over Elsie, and for that reason 
alone, he would do his utmost to conciliate Irene and endeavor to dis- 
prove all cause of enmity which she entertain against him. 

Fenton had no certain knowledge that Irene disliked him for any cause 
whatever, though he possesSs,d an instinctive feeling that this was the 
case. His entire lack of clews with which to render this instinctive 
knowledge a fixed fact served to plunge him into a helpless condition 
and hold him there. He could not seek an explanation from anyone 
but Elsie or Irene herself. Irene would doubtless have left him more in 
doubt than ever, and it was evident that Elsie did not comprehend her 
sister’s motives more than he himself did. If Elsie had been perfectly 
free from the influence of Irene, he could have snapped his fingers in 
the latter’s face, and defied her to do him the worst injury that she could, 
but this he could not do now. Irene constituted herself the guardian of 
all the earth held most dear for Fenton, and he was compelled to yield 
obedience to her silent commands. 

When the festivities of the evening reception were over, and the 
sisters had returned to their temporary home at their aunt’s house, the 
^Ider (Questioned the other as to the impressions which had been made 


»54 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


upon her by the events of the evening. Elsie confessed a delightful 
sense of pleasure with the attention which had been shown her, and was 
not a little impressed with the glitter and pomp of some of the fair 
dames and young ladies of fashion, but was not particularly pleased with 
the young gallants who had hung upon her slightest words and were de- 
sirous of convincing her of their own self-importance. She declared to 
Irene that their conversation seemed dull and out of taste to her, their 
talk was exceedingly slangy, and they were constantly boasting of their 
wealth and their importance in tlie world. She could not help compar- 
ing them to her dear old father, and think of the vast difference between 
them. Perhaps they were all they represented themselves to be — she 
did not dispute that — but she thought how much better taste it would 
have been for them to talk of others more respectfully and of themselves 
frequently less. 

It was plainly evident to Irene that her sister did not exhibit that 
degree of interest which she herself had felt upon becoming a member of 
the charmed circle that still possessed for her so many elements of life, 
but she was determined to persevere in her endeavor to draw her sister 
into the great maelstrom of fashionable and rather giddy life like she 
herself had been leading for a long time. She reasoned to herself now 
that it would take a longer time to wean Elsie from the quiet, humdrum 
manner of living in which she had been raised at Melton, but it was only 
a question of time, and she was sure that her artifice would prove vic- 
torious in the end, and that her sister would finally be as eager to make 
a wealthy social union as she was herself. 

Possibly under circumstances completely favorable to her own wishes 
Irene’s task might have been an easy one. Elsie had always hitherto 
been so willing to comply with her every whim that Irene really believed 
it was only necessary to point out the way in which she desired her sister 
to go to obtain a ready obedience. She had not been sufficiently ob- 
servant of her sister’s character to realize that beneath her apparently 
pliable nature there lay a will power fully equal to her own, and that 
when duly pointed out the way, however much it might differ from 
Irene’s wishes, she would steadily pursue that way. This lesson was one 
that Irene had yet to learn, and even Elsie was ignorant of what she 
might attempt in her own behalf wlien left to her own resources. 

When Fenton had received an invitation to deliver an address be- 
fore the political reform club of Nashville he was not greatly pleased, 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


»5S 


It had found him in the midst of earnest preparation for his future 
labors in congress, and he did not care to be interrupted. But Judge 
Thornton assurred him that this was an honor that he should not cast 
lightly aside, especially as it might prove of great benefit in the ad- 
vancement of his congressional efforts to have his hitherto somewhat 
local popularity extended as far as practicable throughout the state, and 
accordingly Fenton had agreed to comply with the request. 

The invitation itself had been called forth by the publication and 
consequent discussion of the race problem in the South during his can- 
vass, which had by this time attracted considerable attention, not only 
in the State, but in many other sections of the country, and that was the 
subject he was now to speak upon. There were many people through- 
out the south who held the same views with Fenton in regard to the 
education of the colored race, even among the adherents of the doc- 
trines of southern democracy, but no speaker coming from those ranks 
had yet been bold enough to defy the contempt of his party leaders and 
seek to place the matter in its true light before the people as he had 
done. It was entirely new in the line of public addresses, and whether 
the public would approve or disapprove of his sentiments was not a 
question until he had been fully heard. Therefore curiosity, both among 
the aristocratic classes of democracy and the poorer elements, extending 
even to the adherents of republicanism, was greatly aroused to hear 
what the young man had to say upon a subject so distasteful to public 
speakers in general throughout the South, and when the hour for the 
speaking had arrived, instead of the small handful of auditors which 
the club had formerly been accustomed to receive, the theater was 
crowded to its utmost capacity, and by probably as mixed an audience, 
considering wealth and poverty and political opinions, as had ever gath- 
ered beneath its capacious roof. 

A box had been reserved for the especial use of the ladies belong- 
ing to Fenton’s party, and after seeing them safely seated therein 
he advanced to his place on the rostrum, where he was politely received 
by the chairman appointed by the club. When Fenton gazed upon the 
vast audience assembled, he was cool and collected as he had ever been 
while standing before a jury in a courtroom, and rejoiced that he had 
been allowed this golden opportunity of planting the true seed of human- 
ity where possibly it might take hold upon many an honest heart. He 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


156 

silent Jy invoked the aid of the Father of all human kind to enable him 
to speak the words of truth and wisdom and cause them to take a deep 
hold upon the hearts and the minds of those present. 

With the exeption that he knew Elsie’s eyes would be upon him, 
and that possibily she might then and there pass sentence upon his fate 
forever, Fenton was conscious of no embarrassment. The knowledge of 
her presence gave him strength that he had never possessed before, and 
o*ccasionally he felt that if he could win her heart that night, he would 
gladly deafen his ears to the criticism of his audience. But by the time 
the band had played some lively airs, and the chairman had made an 
introductory speech, this feeling had worn away, and in its place came a 
full, realizing sense of the responsibility placed upon him, which made 
him more than anxious to win the entire sympathy of his audience as 
well. 

When he arose to speak he was given a cordial reception by the 
audience which was unmistakably impressed* with his dignified and 
handsome appearance. He began by pleading considerable temerity at 
such a reception on the very outset of a political career which, for aught 
he knew, might indeed be very brief. He was conscious, he said, of 
having struck a chord of sympathy running through the hearts of many 
people in the south in behalf of the former slaves. As yet he had only 
briefly alluded to a question which should command the earnest, prayer- 
ful attention of not only the professional political! but the people of 
the entire nation. That it had already bespok the attention of some 
leading business men, both north and south, he was glad to be able to 
testify. He spoke of the rapid strides which the negroes had made to- 
ward civilization since their emancipation, almost unaided and alone, 
and yet in very many respects their condition since the war had been 
worse than before. He thought their present condition would bear 
comparison to a starving man who had been saved from drowning. 
After he had been pulled out of the water, his rescuers had left him 
without food to care for himself as best he could. The north had res- 
cued the negro from slavery, and he had grown to believe, in common 
with a vast majority of the southern people, that the work was a good 
one as far as it hadjgone, but when that was done the north had left the 
negro in a land of desolation to starve and die, or else to save himself, 
though ignorant and untutored, as he best could, 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


i57 


The power of an ignorant ballot was the greatest menace to the 
south now, as it had been ever since the war, that the people were called 
upon to endure. The class of men who had been kept in congress from 
the south since the war furnished a sufficient testimonial to that fact, 
to say nothing of those holding the reins of power in those states. He 
asked his audience to look around and see how many of the southern rep- 
resentatives in congress since the war had been the deliberate choice 
of a refined and educated sentiment. He believed that scarcely one of 
them could be so denominated. The professional politician had always 
been able to control the ignorant portion of the colored vote, and prob- 
ably would continue to do so as long as there was such a vote to control. 
He cared not which party reaped the benefit of this vote, the result 
would be the same. 

He believed that a great work was in store for the emancipated 
slaves of the United States, after they had attained that degree of civili- 
zation which to his mind they had already shown themselves capable of 
acquiring. They had made wonderful progress during the preceding 
fifteen years of their freedom. No class of individuals either in ancient 
or modern times had made such progress in so short a time. Their 
sharpened faculties of imitation had been of wonderful service to them, 
and they had aped the manners of Caucasian civilization until many 
of them lacked only the bleaching of their bodies to enable them to take 
their places in refined white society. 

If so much had been accomplished by them in fifteen years, who can 
compute the revolution of public sentiment in their favor that is sure to 
come inside of forty or fifty years. They were building homes and buy- 
ing land in the south, and there they were going to stay. All efforts 
which had been made in the last fifty years to get them to emigrate and 
to colonize them had practically amounted to nothing. Luckily for the 
negro he had been brought to America by force, by force he was com- 
pelled to make this country his home, and he had so learned to appreci- 
ate the blessings of a Christian civilization that nothing less than force 
could drive him away. Where was the hand that would be raised for 
that purpose? Much as southern people had looked down upon the ig- 
norant blacks, none cared to drive them out of their native land. 
Neither could they be spared from the agricultural pursuits of the south. 
The whites were unfitted by nature to toil constantly in the broiling sun 


A DiXIl': GENTLEMAN. 


158 

of the southern cotton field, while the colored race are peculiarly adapted 
for it. No, indeed, the negro is here in large and constantly increasing 
numbers, and neither the south nor the government can attord to do 
without his services. He has demonstrated his capability of acquiring 
the most approved state of civilization, and it is time the people of this 
country were beginning to look forward to the brilliant future that lies 
before the colored race of America, rather than to keep their eyes con- 
stantly turned toward his former shackles and ignorance. The bonds- 
man has been set free, and whether he will or no, he is going to demon- 
strate his ability as a scholar and his sagacity as a trader, as he has shown 
us his value as a farmer. It is sheer nonsense, unworthy of the people 
of the south, whor ought to know, better, to endeavor to cry the negro 
down. Like Banquo’s ghost, he will not down. In a few brief years 
they will all be free-born American citizens, and so numerous in popu- 
lation that their demand for a voice in the affairs of the state and nation 
can be no longer unheeded. 

Some good Christian society has long been endeavoring to colo- 
nize the American negro in Africa for the purpose of spreading the civ- 
ilization he had attained here in that dark and benighted land. The 
purpose of the originators of this scheme is a good one, but its folly at 
the present time is perfectly clear. The negroes of America are not yet 
ready, however incommodious their present quarters may be, to ex. 
change them for the barbarous society of their colored brethern in the 
wilds of Africa. They have been better raised than that, and certainly 
we should not seek to deprive them of the few advantages which we 
have been able to give them. 

Fenton said that he trusted a day was coming when the descendants 
of our former slaves would fill high and honored stations in American 
life, when they would be recognized the world over as playing an import- 
ant part in the commercial affairs of our nation; when,as respected citizens 
of the most glorious country on earth, they might visit the dark land of 
their heathen brother and point out to him the way of Christian civiliza- 
tion. Then the heathen mind would be enabled to see the practical 
wisdom of changing his mode of life. A desire would at once be 
created there to forsake their iniquitous practices, laws and customs, 
and adopt those of their respected and honored American brother. He 
believed they were the true missionaries to send to Africa, and they must 
go as citizens of America and not as outcasts and renegades. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


159 


He was aware that it would take a long time to bring about such 
glorious results, but he believed they would surely be accomplished, for 
he thought the hand of providence, though invisible, was surely working 
through it all, and that no earthly power could prevent it. The Cau- 
casian race have been permitted to take posession of American soil. 
They had established its form of government and guaranteed a high state 
of civilization, but they had never claimed to be the only race on earth 
entitled to enjoy its glorious privileges. All barriers had been thrown 
down, and representatives of all the different races had been invited to 
our shores, but the only race represented here by force was the African. 
Enough of civilization had been forced upon him to make him long for 
more, and now there appeared to be a disposition upon the part of sel- 
fish people to refuse enough knowledge to quench his thirst. 

He was sure that time would eventually clear all these difficulties 
out of the way, and in the meantime he though it was the duty of the 
government to provide for the proper education of the negro. If a con- 
flict of the races ever occurred in the south to any serious extent, if 
would be brought about by the meanness of petty white demagogues 
working upon the ignorance and passions of the negro. He did not be- 
lieve that the mass of white people in the South, no more than in the 
North, desired to deprive the negro of his constitutional rights, but the 
greatest difficulty was in getting the people sufficiently aroused to their 
own interests to prevent others from practicing these frauds and imposi- 
tions. It was the true interest of the South to protect the negro in the 
enjoyment of all his privileges, and to prevent by most active measures 
all such practices as would tend to impede his rapid progress onward and 
upward toward the goal of ideal citizenship. 

He claimed that the whites of the South have proven themselves 
the best friends of the colored people in many ways, and it was only 
when some of the demagogue leaders of the South worked upon the pre- 
judices of the people toward the North that the negro felt himself de- 
serted by his old-time friends. The southern people had employed them, 
cared for them when they were helpless, given them such food and 
clothing as they were able to spare, and enabled them to build most of 
the churches and school-houses of which they could boast. Of course 
the assistance thus given them did not begin to compare with their ne- 
cessities, but it was freely given out of sheer pity for the negroes’ poor 


i6o 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


and unfortunate condition. The representations of no set of politicians 
either North or South could make him believe, whatever may have been 
the attitude of the southern people toward the negro in the time of 
slavery, that they were his natural enemies now, and no one better ap- 
preciated the real situation of the negro and his necessities than did the 
people of the South. They knew perfectly well that the negro was cap- 
able of receiving an education and of becoming a valuable addition to 
the weal of this nation. And if left wholly to the bent of their own 
natural inclinations, Fenton believed that the southern people would 
contribute labor and money freely as far as their resources would enable 
them to fit the negro for his great destiny which was plainly before him, 
bnt party leaders intervened, and by continually stirring up dissension 
and strife, prevented so far as it was possible the accomplishment of 
such glorious results. 

But even if the southern people— in accordance with the idea of the 
northern states, that eachstate should see to the proper education of al) 
children within its borders — were allowed uninterruptedly to pursue this 
object, they would for many years to come be hampered with inadequate 
resources. The population, necessities and ignorance of the colored 
people was far to great for the southern states to cope with, single-handed 
and alone, in their present impoverished condition. It W'as clear to him. 
that outside aid for the education of the colored people must be given 
or else the south would for many long years be menaced with the danger 
of their ignorance. 

Then the question came as to what kind of aid would most properly 
be solicited and received. The southern political leaders w'ere opposed 
to the negroes’ education, and when the question of federal aid to educa- 
tion was broached they hooted at the idea, and declared it to be uncon- 
stitutional. For one, Fenton said, he was heartily in favor of that plan, 
and thought if there was any truth in the theory of unconstitutionality 
that the constitution of the United States needed as thorough an over- 
hauling a*! the question of slavery itself. He was satisfied that the fra- 
mers of the constitution never meant to restrict the proper fitting of the 
people for the duties of citizenship by every means in their power, and if 
necessary he thought it entirely justifiable to place a constrained 
construction upon that instrument in order to avoid a danger which 
threatened the peace and welfare of the government. The wealthy 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


i6i 


states of the north had seen fit to free the negro and place in his hand 
the ballot. It should now be made their duty to give proportionate aid 
toward fitting him for the proper discharge of his duties, and thereby 
keeping him as he was formerly forced to be, a quiet peaceable resident 
of this beautiful land. 

Of course no attempt has been made here to report Fenton’s speech 
verbatim, nor of the vigorous cheering with which he was frequently in- 
terrupted, but sufficient has been related to show the sentiments by which 
his eloquent address was inspired, and the manner in which it was de- 
livered completely captivated the immense audience, who at once estab- 
lished him in reputation as one of the formost speakers of the entire 
state, and when he had finished and bowed his thanks for the courtesies 
extended to him, the building fairly shock with the tremendous applause 
which was given. 

The congratulations which the Thorirton sisters extended to Fenton 
in acknowledgement of his wonderful success as a public speaker were 
equally warm and effusive, as it seemed that Irene was determined not to 
be outdone, in outward appearance at least, by the earnestness and sin- 
cerity of Elsie. Fenton paid but little heed to the effect which his ad- 
dress had made upon Irene, for somehow he felt that her words of praise 
were hypocritical, but he anxiously watched for some signs of increased 
affection in the manners of Elsie. He was assured that she was deeply 
impressed with the words he had uttered, but he was somewhat puzzled to 
know whether he himself was being weighed in the balance, or whether 
she was giving reflection to the thoughts he had given utterance in his 
address. 

On the way home that night there was a marked contrast in the 
manner of the two young ladies. Irene was vivacious and chatty as ever, 
though upon subjects entirely foreign to Fenton or his interests, seeming 
rather more desirous than ever of ignoring him, as she was always wont 
to do. She had no difficulty, however, in manipulating the course of the 
conversation in accordance with her wishes, since Elsie was quite the re- 
verse of being communicative. She appeared to be lost in thought, and 
when spoken to directly gave answer so completely at random that Fenton 
soon became aware of the deep study which for the time seemed to en- 
gross her whole mind. 

To Fenton this was a hopeful sign, at least he argued that his fate 
would not remain much longer undetermined, and yet nothing more than 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


162 


the small grain of comfort which he derived from this circumstance was 
afforded him upon this occasion, which proved to be the last they would 
spend in each other’s company for many days and weeks to come. She 
gave him no opportunity to press his suit further than he had already 
done, nor did she intimate by the slightest token that she was prepared 
to give him more real encouragement than she had yielded him when he 
spoke to her at her father’s home. Of course she did not realize then 
that it was the eve of a long seperation — a seperation during which a full 
knowledge of her heart’s overflowing love for Fenton would come upon 
her with a force that she would scarcely ever have believed possible — or 
possibly her manner toward him would have been very different than it 
was. How was she to know that when a full realization of this love 
came to her, with it also would come a sense of utter desolation, a har- 
rowing doubt that he had turned from her forever, in his unrequit ted 
love and unrewarded patience? With what unutterable misery in after 
days did she realize how easily she might have detained him upon that 
night with one loving touch of her hand, until she had a little more time 
to think, and to become conscious of what invisible agency it was that 
kept her from giving her heart into his keeping. Alas! how often it is 
that doubt, misery and even despair is brought upon poor, unfortunate 
humanity by some unseen, restraining influence which prevents them 
from doing iust the right thing at exactly the proper time. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


163 



CHAPTER XIV. 

When Fenton bid the Misses Thornton good-night, and returned to 
his hotel, he had intended calling upon them again the next day previous 
to taking his final departure from Nashville, but at the hotel he found a 
letter from Washington, which had been forwarded to him from Melton, 
urging him to come' on with the least possible delay in order to attend 
to some very pressing business under the role of his new duties. Being 
forced to return to Melton before his departure for the East, he did not 
wait upon the following morning to call upon the young ladies, but 
started immediately after breakfast for the little village, simply ad- 
dressing a brief note to Elsie, explaining why he left so hastily. 

He did not expect that bis visit to the capital would be of any 
great length, as his regular tern> did not begin until the following De- 
cember. And it was something of a relief to Fentou that he would not 
see Elsie again until his return, for he felt, until she had finally decided 
the great question with which she was struggling, that the constraint 
resting upon him was greater than he could bear. If he had been al- 
lowed the privilege of clasping her to his loving heart, and calling her 
his own forevermore no doubt for once in many years business matters 
would have suffered a delay for a longer or shorter peroid, but now the 
excuse furnished him was in realtiy a welcome one, as it would enable 
him to be more patient. 

He did not get away from the city that morning, however, before 
he had shaken hands with a number of prominent citizens, who offered 
their hearty congratulations upon his effort of the previous evening, and 
(hey assured him that he had adopted a wis? course and given utterance 


164 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


to nothing but true sentiment. They wished him a long and prosperous 
career in public life, and were certain that it would result in great bene- 
fit to a large and unfortunate class of people. Fenton replied that he 
did not lay the flattering unction to his soul that he was the instrument 
who should arouse the American people to a full sense of duty with re- 
gard to the colored race, but all that he could do in holding up the 
hands of men who made the attempt should be done gladly and will- 
ingly. 

Late that evening Fenton arrived in the village of Melton, and on 
repairing to his old lodgings, of which he was soon to take leave, he 
found a man sitting in front of his door apparently anxiously awaiting 
his return. 

“Why, as I live, its my old friend Tom Barry!” said Fenton, as 
he grasped the mountaineer’s hand and wrung it eagerly. “You are 
certainly about the last person I expected to see in Melton, but you are 
very welcome. How have you been, and how is my friend Mr. White 
and his family?” 

“Oh, there’s nothing the matter with me or my family,” said Tom, 
“but I am sorry that I cannot say as much for Mr, White and his family, 
for they are just now in the worst sort of trouble, and that is why I 
have been waiting for your return for several hours. They told me here 
that you would certainly be back today, though I was about to give 
you up.” 

“Why, how you amaze me,” exclaimed Fenton with an air of great 
concern. “Tell me all about it at once,” 

Tom proceeded to relate all that was known of pretty Flora 
Hexam’s sudden and mysterious disappearance a few days before. He 
told how the family had retired one night with no thought of trouble 
concerning the girl, who for a long time had seemed to be more happy 
and contented than in all her life before. ,On the following morning 
Mrs. White wondered that Flora had not risen as early as usual, and 
opened her room door to call her, but was still more surprised to find 
that she was not there. Noticing that the room was tidy, she closed the 
door, thinking that the girl had awoke before Mrs. White herself and 
left the house for an early walk in the woods. But after an hour had 
passed, Mrs, White stepped to the outer door and called Flora’s name 
several times as loud as she could, to which calls, she received no an- 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


165 


Swer. Another hour passed, breakfast liad been served, and the family 
had remarked the girl’s mysterious absence but still no further thought 
was taken of the matter, and two hours more were allowed to pass by. 
Finally Mrs. White began to feel alarmed, she scarcely knew why, and 
she proceeded to examine Flora’s room more closely. Then she found 
the dress the girl usually wore while ather household duties was still there, 
while two of her best dresses were gone, and upon searching the place 
where she usually kept her purse,ascertained that it had disappeared also. 
Mrs. White was now thoroughly frightened. She at once seized her bon- 
net, and hurried to the house of her nearest neighbor, Tom Barry, to in- 
quire if they had seen anything of Flora that morning. Finding that they 
knew nothing of henwhereabouts, she went on and inquired at the houses 
of the other neighbors living near, but with the same result. Returning 
home, .she told her husband what she had done, and he immediately set 
out to search the woods for some trace of the missing girl. 

Not being able to find her, he notified his neighbors and a consult- 
ation was held as to what had best be done. It was almost conclusive 
that the girl had left on the previous night, or very early in the morning, 
and of her own free will, for she had selected and taken her clothing and 
money, and all so quietly as not to disturb the family. But the knowledge 
of these facts only served to deepen the mystery of her disappearance. 
Why had she left so suddenly and without warning, and where could she 
have gone without the assistance of some of the neighbors? These were 
the questions to which no answer could be found. 

A searching party was at once instituted, horses were procured, and 
different directions were taken according to the different roads on both 
sides of the river. Of course it was thought to be improbable that she 
could have crossed the ferry without their knowledge or assistance, but 
it was possible that she may have had assistance without their knowledge. 
Tom Barry, with another young man, had cro.ssed at the ferryboat and 
had taken the road which led over the mountain. They had deliberatly 
inquired of everyone whom they had met, and stopped at <wery house to 
seek some trace of the missing girl, but for many miles they traveled 
without success, and at several times were on the point of giving up the 
search in that direction, when in discussing between themselves the time 
which the girl, if assisted by anyone in her journey over the mountain, 
would most likely have passed along the road, they remembered that it 


i66 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


must have been so dark that if anyone had seen them, in all probability 
they would not have been recognized, should they be distinguished at all. 
This fact started a new train of thought in the mind of Barry, and he 
determined to push on until they reached a part of the route where, if 
they were on horseback, the girl and her companion would have been 
compelled to travel in day-light, unless perhaps they were even then in 
hiding along the road. 

They went on until they had passed over the mountain and were de- 
scending upon the opposite side, w'hen they stopped at a house to rest 
their tired horses and to make further inquiries. At this place they ob- 
tained the first clew to enable them to trace the girl’s flight, for here it 
was Stephen and Flora had purchased food for their horses. The 
family described the couple as best they could, but while Tom was certain 
the girl was Flora, he could not identify the young man, as Stephen had 
doubtless disguised himself in some way in order to baffle recognition 
should he happen to meet anyone whom he knew. 

Tom and his companion determined to go on at once and endeavor 
to find out something more definite in regard to the cause of the girl’s 
leaving home before they returned to Mr. White’s family. They fre- 
quently met with persons who remembered to have seen the couple on 
the p'revious morning, and they had no difficulty in tracing the route 
which the refugees had taken, which as Tom now began to see, pointed 
clearly toward the first railway station. 

It was late at night when they arrived at the station at which 
Stephen and Flora had boarded the train, but found everything closed 
for the night. They were satisfied that it would be quite useless to pro- 
ceed further, and concluded to remain there until daylight and ascertain 
the destination of the couple. They accordingly fastened their horses 
near the station and lay down upon the platform to get a brief nap. At 
the first streak of dawn, the two men awoke, having become somewhat 
chilled from their exposure, and began to walk up and down the railroad 
track for exercise. 

While they were thus engaged, a man on horseback, and leading 
another horse, crossed the track near the station, and started off in the 
direction from which the men had came over the mountain. Tom 
uttered an exclamation of surprise that attracted the attention of the 
other man, who desired to know what was the matter. In reply Tom 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


167 


asked him to look at those horses and see if he did not recognize them. 
The young man was quite sure he had seen them somewhere but could 
not exactly place them. 

“There! I thought so,” exclaimed Tom Barry, “I was quite sure 
that I could not be mistaken. The one that man is riding certainly be- 
longs to old Henry Hobart, but I don’t think the other one does, 
though I know that I have seen it before this morning. And see, the 
one he is leading has a side-saddle. Now, I wonder what he is doing 
with Hobart’s horse, and leading another horse with a side-saddle? It 
looks to me as though they might have brought the couple we are look- 
ing for.” 

Just at this moment the station agent appeared, and Tom proceeded 
to question him about the horses. The agent, however, had not seen 
the horses before, so he said, and could give no information upon that 
point, but when Tom asked about the couple who had boarded the train 
there on the day before, he stated that he had sold them tickets to 
Washington. 

‘ It was deemed inadvisable to pursue the couple further until they 
had a more definite reason for the cause of Flora’s flight, and accord- 
ingly after they had fed their horses and found some refreshment for 
themselves, they turned their faces homeward, more deeply mystified 
than ever at the behavior of the young girl, and wondering who it could 
possibly have been that enticed her away from her country home. They 
rode leisurely along for several hours, and at last overtook the man 
leading the horse. Tom found that the man was an entire stranger to 
him, but notwithstanding this he at once put to him the question 
whether the horse he was riding did not belong to old man Hobart. 

The man, who was rather a good-looking, careless sort of a fellow, 
seemed pleased at the idea of having somebody to talk to, and quite 
readily replied that he was not sure, but he thought both of horses be- 
longed to Mr. Hobart, at least that was the man he had been instructed 
to carry them to, and that he had been further told to explain to the 
old man that the horses had been stolen out of his stable on the night 
before last, in order to carry a runaway couple over the mountain, who 
desired that the horses should be returned to him without injury with 
their kindest compliments. The man had not seen the runaway couple 
himself, but the keeper of the stable at the station had given him these 
instructions. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


1 68 


Tom Barry did not doubt the man told the truth, so far as he was 
concerned with the affair, but he did think it a little remarkable that 
old man Hobart had not raised a great cry about his stolen horses on 
the morning before. He had talked with the old man a few moments 
before starting on his trip over the mountain, but not a word had he 
said about the missing horses. Of course it seemed unreasonable to 
think that Hobart taken any part in the elopement, or whatever it 
should prove to be, but Tom had a habit of being very suspicious about 
anything with which the Hobarts any connection whatever, and conse- 
quently he could not repress a certain kind of feeling that by watching 
the old man they might be able to find something of advantage. 

Tom and his companion did not exchange confidences with their 
new associate sufficiently to inform him that they had ridden over the 
mountain in search of the runaway couple, but explained to him that they 
were neighbors of the Hobarts, and said they would ride with him to 
the old man’s house, especially since they had a little curiosity to see 
how he would enjoy the recovery of the stolen horses, about which he 
would naturally be very anxious. 

Late in the afternoon the party rode up to the door of the old man’s 
residence, and called to him to come out and take possession of the horses. 
When he came to the door, and caught sight of the two neighbors in 
company with a stranger, and having possession of his horses, he scarcely 
seemed to know just how to act. But he soon rallied himself, and for 
awhile completely deceived Tom by the surprised manner in which he 
inquired where the horses were found and listened to the news of the 
runaway couple. He appeared to be quite delighted at the recovery of 
the lost animals, and expressed himself as perfectly satisfied since no harm 
had come to them. 

Then turning to Tom, in an innocent sort of way, he said: 

“I suppose by this time you know something of the whereabouts of 
the lost gal?” 

“Why, yes,” Tom said, “it’s quite natural to suppose that she rode 
away on one of your horses. But I’m just as much puzzled to know who 
happened to be on the other horse at the same time.” 

“Yondid’nt find out who went with her then?” inquired Hobart, a 
little anxiously as Tom thought. 

“No. I suppose there is no young man missing from your house is 
there?” asked Tom. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


1^9 


“Not likely,” said the old man, as he turned to take care of the 
horses, 

A boat was due up the river that evening, and the man who had re- 
turned the old man’s horses remained at the house to wait its appearance^ 
while Tom and his neighbor turned their faces toward Mr. White’s house* 
The other members of the searching party had returned home without 
success, and were anxiously awaiting the coming of Tom and his com* 
panion, since having been absent from home over night they were certain 
he had gained some clew to the disappearance of Flora. 

Mr. and Mrs. White were almost overcome with grief, for they felt 
that in any event something dreadful had occured to the girl, since they 
could think of no reason why she should leave her comfortable home of 
her own free will, and when Tom reported that she had undoubtedly 
gone to Washington in company with some young man, they fully be- 
lieved that she had been enticed away for an evil purpose. 

Mrs, White at first was completely prostrated by the intelligence 
while Mr. White was filled with rage at the thought of the monster who 
could be guilty of such a deed. He declared his intention of finding 
Flora, if it was in his power to do so, and if harm had come to her, he 
would wreak the direst vengeance upon her false friend. 

His neighbors counseled him against prosecuting the search in person, 
since there were others ready to do his bidding, and would perhaps act 
more deliberately. He then asked Tom Barry to go in search of the 
missing girl, and to leave no stone unturned until she was found, and if 
possible to ascertain who had taken her away from home. 

Tom immediately set about making preparations for his journey. 
While thus engaged he happened to remember that Fenton intended to 
leave Melton for Washington at an early date, and perhaps it would be 
best to first secure his counsel and assistance. Accordingly for that pur- 
pose he had now come to Melton, and desired to know how soon he was 
going to start for the east. 

Fenton was deeply affected by the recital of this news by Tom Barry 
and while intently listening to every word there came vividly to mind 
recc-llections of the time when he had .first met little Flora, and the in- 
stinctive desire which had possessed him to secure her full confidence 
that she might be led to unburden to him all her little troubles which 
seemed to weigh heavily upon her and to depress her spirits, making her 
seem old and careworn beyond her years. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


170 


His worst fears for her were now thoroughly aroused. If she had 
acquired a friend who had taken a deep interest in her lonely condition, 
who realized that she was sadly neglected, and who would strive to make 
her future life happy and pleasant, then Fenton’s own conscience would 
cease to upbraid him, but this was hardly probable. The fact of her own 
secret flight proved to him almost conclusively that she was influenced 
by some crafty and cunning designer, wLo evidently desired to conceal 
his own identity for a purpose, and this purpose Fenton would tlot at* 
tempt to fathom, though he shrank involuntarily from a knowledge of 
the truth. 

He assured Tom Barry that he did perfectly right in coming to him 
before proceedingly upon his journey, as he intended leaving for Wash- 
ington upon the following morning, and would do all in his power to aid 
in his search. 

' It was a pleasant day in the month of December when Fenton bade 
good-bye to his Melton friends and entered the stage-coach, accompan- 
ied by Tom Barry, to start upon his first trip to the nation’s capital. The 
conflict of feelings which alternately took possession of his breast possi- 
bly prevented, to a degree at least, one of exultant delight at the bare 
honor of the station he would now be called upon to fill. If nothing 
had weighed upon his mind beyond the mere performance of duties be- 
longing to his new station, he would have been supremely happy and 
contented, but as he passed the loved spot where he had spent so many 
happy hours with Elsie, he remembered with regret that his fate 
still hung in the ballance and thought how after all his faithful, honest 
labor in the past, he might even now be deprived of the sweet consolation 
so often found in the assistance of a loving companion, and that all the 
hours of his future life, when not actively engaged in the great duties 
which he felt called uj)on to fulfill, might be hours of unutterable misery 
and wretchedness. 

No sooner did he succeed in calming his thoughts and fears with re- 
gard to Elsie for the time being than they at once recurred to the mis- 
sion of his friend sitting beside him in the coach? Was it true that 
some fiend in human form had lured the lovely girl to ruin, or would 
they find her living a peaceful and happy life in that far-away land. 

How would they proceed to search for her in the most affective 
manner? Not knowing Flora’s purpose in leaving her home, he could 


A DIXIE gentleman. 


171 


form no definite theory upon which to act in a prosecution of their 
search. Of course he felt it would be wise to secure the aid of a good 
detective, but he was certain that without some definite clew to work 
upon, the undertaking might prove a long and hopeless task. But Fen- 
ton could not feel satisfied with himself until every effort had been made 
to gain some knowledge of Flora’s whereabouts and condition. In 
some degree he felt responsible for what he believed to be this last and 
very imprudent act upon her part. He felt that, having observed in her 
early years the discontentd spirit of the child, that he had neglected a 
grave and manly duty in not inquiring into its nature and cause and offer-, 
ing to her such solace and comfort as was needful to one of her tender 
years, and in the absence of a mother’s loving watchfulness and care. 
Fenton had never broached this subject to any one, partly because of his 
ripened friendship and respect for Mr. White and his wife, fearing to 
draw public attention to their unaccountable neglect of the child’s best 
interests, and partly because he was never fully able to arrive at a defi- 
nite conclusion as to what was best for him to do in the premises. He 
had not failed to notice, however, the deep interest Tom Barry had dis- 
played in the girl’s welfare, and his evident readiness to neglect his own 
affairs in her behalf, and Fenton was now revolving in his own mind 
whether this interest evinced by his companion had been aroused by a 
sense of obligation, toward his neighbor, Mr. White, or was prompted, 
as his own had been, by the neglected condition of Flora herself. 

He finally decided to broach the subject to Tom, by which means 
he might be somewhat enlightened not only in regard to Tom’s individ- 
ual opinions but also as to other points in connection with the girl’s 
history. So after some general conversation concerning the election and 
the business which was now taking Fenton to Washington, he said: 

“I have often thought what an unusally bright and attractive child 
this niece of Mr. White’s seemed to be for one of her age, and of course 
her strange action must be a severe blow to the family.” 

,‘Yes,” said Tom Barry, “they seem to take it pretty hard, though 
I am bound to say that surprises me more than if they had paid but little 
attention to her running away.” 

“Why, how is that?” asked Fenton in affected surprise. 

“Of course it seems surprising to you to hear me say that, as you 
have not had as good a chance to observe the family as I have, but I 


172 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


will explain what I mean. I do not mean to say that P'lora has ever 
been mistreated by her uncle’s family. They do not belong to a class of 
people who would be guilty of such a thing as that. But I think they 
have hardly taken as much interest in her as they should have done. 
For instance, I have never known Flora to visit any of her neighbors in 
company with her aunt, although she sometimes came to our house by 
herself, and even visited at other houses. And then too it seemed that 
Mrs. White, having such a good education herself, ought to have given 
more instruction to the girl. Why, I believe the girl can scarcely read 
even now. There was always a great difference betweer^ their treatment 
of Flora and Walter, which seems to prove that they might have done 
for her if she had really been their daughter. But why they should have 
made such a difference simply because she was only a niece is what none 
of the neighbors can understand. Sometimes I have almost made up my 
mind to speak to them about their plain neglect of Flora, but again I 
thought if they wanted me to know more about her they would tell me 
without asking. I guess they now begin to realize the mistake they have 
made, and perhaps it is to late too correct it. If I could feel certain that 
the girl was getting along all right, and did’nt need assistance, I w ould 
not care to bring her back again to her uncle’s family, but something 
tells me that all is not right, and I cannot rest contented until I know 
the whole truth.” 

“Have you heard nothing of the girl’s history previous to her com- 
ing south?” inquired Fenton. 

“There is very little known in regard to it, as the Whites have 
always claimed that they knew nothing positive except that Flora’s 
parents had parted, and that the mother had sent Flora to them, and 
then committed suicide. Her father had never been heard from since.” 

Fenton was greatly relieved to find that Tom’s interest in the matter 
was prompted by the same motives which had inspired him, and felt they 
could now work together with a complete understanding of each other, 
and if Flora could be found at all, it was possible they might discover 
some means that would prove more beneficial to her future welfare than 
returning her to the home in which her youth had been so sadly neglected. 

The journey to the capital city was without incident other than is 
common to the many travelers thither, and having arrived there and se- 
cured accommodations for a few days, Fenton made himself known to 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


173 


the department with which his business was connected, and in a day 
or two had arranged matters so that he could have a few days in which 
he could employ himself as he pleased and without interruption. 

In the meantime the two men had engaged the service of an ex- 
perienced detective, and furnished him with a complete description of 
Flora Hexam, with instructions to keep them informed of everything 
coming to his knowledge in regard to her whereabouts, and without 
letting the girl know that anyone was searching for her. 

The officer lost no unnecessary time in setting to work, and headed 
straight for the depot at which the southern train had arrived, bring- 
ing Flora and her companion to the city. Without much difficulty he 
found the hackman who had carried the couple to the hotel, and arriving 
at the hotel the detective soon gained possession of all the facts pertain- 
ing to the hastily arranged wedding of the young couple and of their de- 
parture for the city of New York. When he had duly reported these 
facts to Fenton and Tom Barry, they did not know whether to. feel sorry 
or glad. Certainly, they now reasoned, that old Hobart was perfectly 
familiar with all the details of their flight, and this gave them not a little 
cause for alarm, since they knew that Stephen was a young man of no 
more stable principles than his father. Would Flora be treated as a 
young wife should be, or was it intended tostrike a blow at the White 
family through her. 

These fears hastened the departure of the two men from Washington 
with the intention of prosecuting the search and ascertaining what the 
intention of Stephen toward the young girl really was. Fenton’s in- 
terest in the affair was greatly enhanced since he became aware that his 
relatives were at the bottom of the plot to seperate the girl from Mr. 
White’s family, for he knew them well enough to feel assured that they 
were capable of the deepest treachery. 

But when they arrived at New York, they 'soon became aware that 
it would be necessary to secure another detective to locate the where- 
abouts of the runaway couple, and even then, after a search of one, 
two, and even three weeks, nothing could furnish them with even the 
slightest clue. 


174 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 



CHAPTER XV. 

On a cold, raw day in December, some two week after Fenton and 
Tom Barry had left Melton for their trip to the east, a steamer landed at 
its wharf for the purpose of putting off a considerable amount of freight 
which it had brought up the river from Nashville, consigned to the 
various merchants and other residents of the little village. Among the 
passengers who stepped ashore for the purpose of exchanging salutations 
with some of the villagers gathered there was a man who had the ap- 
pearance of being an entire stranger and possessing the somewhat digni- 
fied air of foreign travel. Although apparently somewhere near forty 
years of age, his personnel was still quite an attractive one, and his 
quick yet decisive manner denoted a man of no ordinary business attain- 
ments. Approaching the first one of the villagers nearest the landing 
who chanced to prove the genial and self-important ’Squire Sam, the 
stranger inquired whether or not Judge Thornton could be found at 
home. 

“There he is. That’s your man, right over there, sir,” said the 
’squire pointing to a place where the judge was just then engaged with 
the steamboat clerk in receiving and paying for some freight which had 
been left for him. 

“Thanks,” the stranger returned, as he at once proceeded to accost 
the judge. The latter was not a little puzzled at the stranger’s greeting, 
and seemed to be trying to remember whether they had ever met before, 
and when. 

Upon this point, however, he was at once enlightened by the gentle- 
man himself, who said: 

“I am desirous to ascertain the whereabouts of a family living 
somewhere in this locality, and have been directed to you as the most 
probable person likely to be able to give me the information.” 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


175 


“I will gladly do so, if possible,” replied Judge Thornton, “What 
is the name of the family?” 

“White. Mr. John White.” 

“Why, yes, certainly. I know him very well; but you will have to 
travel some distance up the river yet before reaching his place. If you 
will speak to the captain of the boat, it is probable he can put you off at 
a landing near Mr. White’s house.” 

“Yes, sir; you are right. In fact, I have already spoken to him 
about the family you spoke of, but since he was not personally acquainted 
with them, I was not fully satisfied that it was the family I am in search 
of. Do you know this Mr. White personally?” 

“Oh, yes,” said the judge. “He and his wife came from Vermont, 
I think, several years ago, and bought a small place where they are now 
living. They have one son, Walter, who has now entered a school at 
Nashville. They have also an adopted daughter who, I understand, was 
left to them by some relatives when she was quite young, but I do not 
believe I can call her name this moment.” 

“Is it Flora Hexam?” inquired the stranger eagerly. 

“Yes, sir; that’s the name.” 

“Thank God, then .she still lives!” exclaimed the man joyfully. 

Judge Thornton gave his companion a look of inquiry, which the 
latter interpreted to -mean that he would like to be informed as to his 
identity and accordingly proceeded at once to enlighten him. 

“The family I assure you is the right one,” he said as he grasped the 
judge’s hand, “and I am little Flora’s father — by name Oliver Hexam, at 
your service. Y ou cannot wonder that after an absence of several years 
I am almost overjoyed to find my daughter, whom I remember a most 
lovely child, alive and cared for by her nearest relatives, since Mrs. White 
is her aunt and my sister.” 

“And of course they will be only too glad to give you welcome,” 
said the judge heartily, for he had not heard of the recent sorrow which 
had befallen Mr. White’s family, and knew nothing of the woful tidings 
which awaited the arrival of Mr. Hexam. “But if I am not mistaken 
the family have long believed you dead. Did you ever write to them?” 

“No and yes,” said Mr. Hexam; “but I did not know until lately 
that they had left Vermont, and although I made repeated inquiries I 
could not ascertain what had become of them, and accordingly I suppose 
that none of my letters ever reached them.” 


176 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


Just then the ringing of the steamboat bell warned the passengers to 
get aboard, and Mr. Hexam assured the judge at some future opportunity 
he would acquaint him more fully with his history and why he had been 
so long absent from his native country. 

The weather was still cold, and the lowering clouds gave indication 
of a drizzling rain or snow as Mr, Oliver Hexam stepped off the boat 
near Mr. White’s house and made his way quickly up the gentle slope to 
the yard gate. None but those who have passed through bitter trials 
and experience can fully understand the joyful emotions which filled his 
expectant heart at this moment. How soon he was to clasp in loving em- 
brace the dearest tie that bound him to earth. Oh, how he had longed 
for this very hour and moment as he had roamed restlessly about in 
foreign lands, and his proud heart had hungered for some word of for- 
giveness from his deserted wife. The news of her death had never 
reached him, and not until a few days before had he learned the terrible 
truth, and now the only earthly consolation to a dreary life of woe and 
bitterness must come from his daughter’s hand. But how would she feel 
and act toward him? Would she condescend to accept a daughter’s place 
by the side of such a truant and erring father as he had been?' Nothing 
but doubting answers came to all these questions, but he would endeavor 
to hope for the best. 

The door opened in answer to his quick, nervous rap, and John 
White stood before him. The latter, however, did not recognize his 
visitor, who had greatly changed in appearance since a young man, and 
was much surprised when Mr Hexam sprang forward and grasped his 
hand. 

“Don’t you know me, brother John?” he langhed, 

Mr. White showed great astonishment, but his features did not 
relax even into a smile as he said: 

“Why, yes; it must be Oliver; but we we had long given you up for 
dead. I can scarcely believe it possible that you are alive and have 
come back. 

At this juncture Mrs. White entered the room, and with a woman’s 
naturally keen instinct she recognized her long lost brother at once and 
gave him a most affectionate greeting, although Mr. Hexam could not 
help noticing the extreme pallor of her face and wondered at its cause. 
Was it the momentary surprise of his sudden and unexpected appear- 
ance? Or was it an indication of great physical anguish or a mental 


A Dixie gentleman. 


177 


struggle? The more keenly he regarded her the more he became con- 
vinced that her ashen color was not the result of her late surprise, and 
at length he questioned her if she had not had a severe illness. At first 
she hesitated, as if at a loss for an answer, and cast an appealing look 
toward her husband who had turned his head toward the window. She 
dared hesitate no longer, for she knew that his next inquiry'would be 
concerning Flora, whom he seemed to have forgotten for a brief mom- 
ent. 

“No, I have not been seriously ill,” she at length said; “but we 
have experienced a great trouble recently that has well nigh over- 
whelmed us, and even yet there seems to be no hope of relief. I sup- 
pose you have not forgotten your daughter Flora?” 

‘Indeed, I have not,” replied Mr. Hexam, “and had I not been so 
surprised as the frightful pallor of your face I should have asked con- 
cerning her at once. No doubt she is growing to be quite a young lady 
by this time, and possibly will not care to own mej'or her papa. But 
where is she, I must see her at once? Why, Susan, what is the matter? 
Why do you not speak? Has anything happened to her?” 

“Oh, Oliver, my poor brother, what can I say to you” she almost 
gasped, “We do not know where Flora is. She left us one night 
nearly three weeks ago, in company with some person whom we do not 
know, and she has not been seen since.” 

“What caused her to leave in such a manner? 

“Alas! we have not been able to learn the cause, but can only fear 
that she has been enticed away for some evil purpose. One of the 
neighbors traced them to the railway across the mountain, and found 
they had purchased tickets for Washington. Mr. Barry, our nefghbor, 
then returned here and we sent him on immediately to Washington. A 
letter from him last week said that the couple had been traced from 
there to New York, where he and Mr. Fenton, our new congressman, 
had followed them. Since then we have heard nothing, and I am afraid 
now that she will never be found.” 

Mr. Hexam listened to this humiliating information first with as- 
tonishment and afterward with the deepest dejection. How he had pict- 
ured to himself the happy scene which should follow his home-coming 
after all these weary years of isolation, and now how bitter to think that 
his wife, whom he had always loved notwithstanding their separation. 


178 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


had gone down to an untimely grave, stricken by her own hand, and his 
only child, just ripening into fresh young womanhood, forsaking home 
and friends for a possible life of evil. Was this the justice of Heaven, 
after all his weary, honest toil, during which he had amassed a large 
fortune with the sole intention of making his home a happy one? His 
former poverty had brought about the quarrel which had separated him 
from his wife and child, and while he had never intended to absent him- 
self from them but a few weeks, yet being fascinated by a streak of good 
fortune upon which he had accidentally fallen, he became disposed to 
lengthen his stay, until weeks and months had passed, and then he had 
written for his wife’s forgiveness and to acquaint her with his good for- 
tune. But no answer came, and he wrote again and again, urging her 
to come to him. No reply ever came, and at last he was fain to accept 
her silence as a continuation of her displeasure, and, disposing of his 
business and turning his property into money, he became a veritable 
wanderer upon the face of the earth. He endeavored to calm the still, 
small voice accusing him of willful desertion, and traveled everywhere 
with a vague, unsatisfied feeling of unrest, but there came no rest to the 
troubled soul and b^ing of Oliver Hexam, and at last after months and 
years spent in useless search, he turned his steps homeward with the de- 
termination to make full reparation to his loved ones. On his way 
thither a strange, unaccountable peace had taken possessioa of him, and 
for the first time in long years he felt that he had turned his face full 
toward the responsible duties of manhood. 

But what a rude awakening he had received as he now was forced 
to the realization that his dream of peace and happiness was only a 
bright illusion, swiftly vanishing into darkness of a terrible despair. He 
turned in his agony from his sister toward Mr. White, as if he could 
yield him a grain of comfort. 

The form of John White stood like a great oak in the forest, as 
though it were resolved to brave and defy the tempest which raged about 
it. His eyes were staring out of the window at nothing. He seemed 
a little while to be utterly unconscious of the presence of his wife or her 
brother, for he spoke not a word. But though his frame was immovable, 
his brain was evidently quite busy, for in a little time he unfolded his 
arms with a sudden movement and turned toward his questioner as though 
he had arrived at the conclusion of some deep mental problem. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


175 


“Yes,” he said; “I begin to believe that I can throw some light upon 
this whole affair from beginning to end. But Susan, first of all let us 
make the honest confession that we have not done our whole duty by 
Flora all through her childhood days, and I am deeply afraid, if she has 
been led into sin, that we are responsible for it before God and her own 
father. I can see now, as I never did before, the difference with which 
we treated Walter and Flora. Possibly you will say that was because 
he was our own child, but there is no use denying that Providence placed 
them both equally under our care and guardianship, to instruct and foster 
with all the humble ability which we possessed. How have we dis- 
charged this trust? Walter has lacked for nothing that love and money 
could bestow upon him. He loves his home and parents, and will doubt- 
less make a good and useful man. But how has it fared with poor little 
Flora? I almost wonder that she didn’t spurn us long ago. Did we 
ever caress and instruct her in a loving way, or teach her to love home 
better than strangers? Have we not often treated her, in the presence 
of our neighbors, as though she were an unwelcome guest? And why 
was it that she preferred to spend so much of her time alone in the woods, 
the trees and birds for her companions? Was it not because she found 
no kindred loving spirits at home? My dear wife, I can see it all so 
plainly now, and there remains little to wonder at in the result.” 

“Do not blame yourselves for it all,” said Mr. Hexam, “for every 
word you have said is also a reproach to myself. I am the most to blame 
at last. But it is so hard to think my eyes have been opened when it is 
to late to retrieve the past.” 

“That reminds me of what 1 originally intended to say,” continued 
Mr. White. “Since first I came to this state there has never been but 
one family who seemed disposed to cause me unnecessary trouble, and 
they are our neighbors just across the river, the Hobarts. In thinking 
over this trouble about Flora, I remember the threats that old man 
Hobart used against me after I defeated him in a lawsuit at Melton, 
where it was proved that he stole some of my walnut logs. He vowed 
to get even with me at some future time, and while he remained perfectly 
peaceable since that time, I am well aware that he is capable of doing 
me a serious injury if he could. This fact has led me to believe that he 
had a hand in enticing Flora away from home, and I intend to pay him a 
visit this very day and hour for the purpose of ascertaining the truth. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


i8o 


And if I find he is guilty, he shall receive a severe punishment unless he 
discloses the whereabouts of Flora.” 

“And I will go with you,” exclaimed Hexam. 

Mrs. White warned them against such a dangerous undertaking, but 
the men were both determined, and promised her that they would be 
careful and not expose themselves to the treachery of their wily neighbor. 
In a few moments the two were on their way across the river. There 
could be no question of their ability in point of strength to carry out 
whatever plan deemed feasible and necessary that would probably 
hasten the solution of the mystery surrounding Flora’s flight. They 
were both evidently capable of proving formidable adversaries in a hand- 
to-hand contest, though Mr. White was much the larger and stouter of 
the two."' Few men indeed would have cared to test his strength or 
provoke him to wrath, for, though naturally a quiet and peaceable man, 
there was no telling how far he would go nor what he would undertake 
when fully aroused to anger. Neither could Mr. Hexam be regarded as 
a weak antagontist. Used as he was to constant hardship and possessing 
considerable power in the athletic arts, he could have easily handled a 
much larger man than himself with perfect ease, though perhaps more 
deceptive in appearance in this respect than his stalwart companion. 
Nevertheless it was quite apparent that neither of them gave any thought 
to fear in connection with a visit to the Hobart mansion, as nothing but 
a resort to arms would have placed the cowardly Hobarts upon an equal 
footing with them, and they intended to be on their guard against the 
use of any such means. 

After crossing the river they proceeded straightway to the door of 
the Hobarts, and finding that no signs of life appeared upon the outside 
of the house, rapped loudly for admittance. After a moment or two the 
door slowly opened and the old man himself stood before them. He 
was quite taken aback, however, as he caught sight of his two visitors, 
and his first thought seemed to be to close the door in their faces out of 
sheer fright. But, conquering his cowardice for a moment, he assumed 
a bolder air, and demanded to know what was wanted. 

“We came over to have a talk with you about the mysterious dis- 
appearance of my niece a short time since, as I have reason to believe 
that you can give us some information. 

There was certainly nothing in the appearance of Hobart at that 
moment to indicate any particular guilty knowledge, for he was much 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


i8i 


too crafty an old fox to be caught napping, although it was apparent 
that he did not relish the idea of carrying out his former threats of bod- 
ily vengenance upon the person of his neighbor at just that time. On 
the contrary, he immediately began to dissemble into the more comfort- 
able air of an injured innocent and to express his unbounded astonish- 
ment at the idea of such a charge being laid to his account. 

“I don’t understand what you mean, sir. How should I know any- 
thing about your niece?” 

“I have heard that your horses were used to carry her across the 
mountain. You don’t deny that I suppose,” asked Mr. White, with an 
effort to conceal the agitation causea by his strong suspicion of the old 
man’s guilt. 

“No, I don’t,” returned Hobart. “But how was I to prevent the 
taking of my horses any more than you could prevent the disappearance 
of the girl?” 

“By locking your stable door,” suggested Mr. Hexam. 

• But Hobart turned upon him with a look of contempt at the idea 
of his insufferable ignorance. 

“Well, sir, that’s not the custom of the country hereabouts, as 
White well knows. There has never been a lock of any kind upon my 
stable.” 

“Possibly they would be a benefit to your neighbors, nevertheless,” 
said Mr. Hexam in a voice of veiled sarcasm. 

To this the old man, even if he understood its full meaning, designed 
no reply. 

“Where are your sons, Charles and Stephen?” asked Mr. White. 
“Are you certain that they had nothing to do with this affair?” 

“They are here to answer for themselves,” answered Hobart quickly. 
Then, as if he had remembered that he had made a mistake, he continued; 
“No, I mean that Charles is here, but Stephen is off for a day’s hunting 
somewhere.” 

“Why, Henry,” called Mrs. Hobart from the back part of the room, 
“Stephen has not been at home for three weeks.” 

Mr. White and Mr. Hexam exchanged a quick glance with each 
other and awaited with bated breath the reply of the old man. The 
latter had turned toward his wife with a deprecating jesture, and motion- 
ing her to silence, said: 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


182 


“Oh, no, my dear, you are mistaken. He was here for a short time 
only yesterday,” 

But the ponderous hand of John White came down roughly upon 
his shoulder, and caused his face to blanche with fear, as the former 
shouted: 

“You lie, you old dog, and you know it.” 

“Be careful. White, or you shall answer for this,” said the old man, 
trembling like a leaf. 

“Then tell me what has become of your son and my niece, or I shall 
grind your bones into powder.” 

At this Mrs. Hobart screamed loudly for help, and Charles the 
eldest son, came running into the room. He made a motion as if to 
reach for a rifle, which hung upon some pegs over the rear door, but the 
bold manner of the two visitors seemed to unnerve him, and he stood 
still, regarding them in silence. 

Notwithstanding the fact that the old man presented the appearance 
of an abject coward completely at bay, his wily craftiness never forsook 
him, and his brain was busy in the effort to formulate some plan of action, 
since he readily comprehended the fact that he was more than matched 
in physical strength. Had he only possessed the advantage of his son’s 
presence in his nearness to the rifle on the wall, he would have boldly 
defied Mr. White and his companion to prove his declarations and pro- 
testations untrue if they could, but he had been taken quite unawares, 
and now resource must be had to his crafty brain, which had seldom 
failed him at such a crisis. 

“If I knew anything about the girl,” he said with something like a 
snivel, “why shouldn’t I tell you? What good would it do me to keep 
such a secret from you or anyone else? My time is worth more to me 
than to watch after my neighbors’ girls who happen to want to skip off 
and get married.” 

“You have not answered my question,” said Mr. White, still re- 
taining his hold upon Hobart’s shoulder, and who seemed to prefer to 
make no resistance toward the unneighborly clasp. “Where is your son 
Stephen?” 

“Why, I told you that he was out hunting somewhere. You need 
not mind what my old woman says; she gets a little flighty sometimes, 
and imagines a great deal more than she really knows.” 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


183 


It was evident that Henry Hobart had not confided in his wife in 
this instance for peculiar reasons of his own. Perhaps he doubted his 
ability to carry out his nefarious scheme of vengeance successfully if he 
intrusted a knowledge of the facts to a member of the oppossite sex, for 
however good or bad his wife’s intentions might prove to be complete 
silence was of very great value to him at the present time. 

But this was not the case in regard to his son Charles, to whom he 
had revealed every step in the plot, for it was not impossible that he 
should need his assistance in a time of threatened danger such as the 
present, and, besides, he rightly reasoned that it would be no easy mat- 
ter to divert suspicion from his son’s mind and that if he did not secure 
his co-operation by yielding confidence Charles might unwittingly prove 
to be the cause of his exposure aud overthrow. And thus when Chailes 
had received the cue from his father as to his brother’s absence he readily 
comprehended the situation, and his craftiness proved to be quite equal 
to that of his father. 

Mr. White released his hold upon Hobart’s shoulder, though he 
really felt if he should carry out his suspicions so far as to shake the lat- 
ter into insensibility he would only administer a portion of the justice 
due him. He then fixed a steady eye upon Charles, and demanded if he 
knew aught of his brother’s whereabouts. 

“Why, certainly,” the latter answered readily. “I saw him down 
by the river bank not over two hours ago. He had his shotgun with 
him, and I suppose he crossed the river because he thought it was a 
better chance to find game over there. He may be back inside of an 
hour.” 

This was a straightforward answer, and to the average listener 
would have seemed quite convincing, and while Mr. White was com- 
pelled to accept it as truthful for the present because he felt himself 
powerless to combat it with sufficient proof of its falsity, he determined 
there and then to treasure up the .answer in his memory as an over- 
whelming proof of both Charles and old man Hobart’s complicity ^in the 
abduction of his niece, should the fact of the abduction itself ever be 
completely established. 

The two visitors were baffled and forced to retire from the field of 
attack, but in doing so could not refrain from delivering a parting shot 
in the admission of entire disbelief in the Hobart’s statements by saying 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


184 

that if future events should prove that they had not spoken the truth they 
would both be visited with some severe punishment for their complicity 
in the affair. 

It is not known exactly what transpired in the Hobart mansion after 
the departure of the visitors who had so completely upset the boasted 
dignity of the occupants, but it may be readily surmised that the old 
man and his son congratulated themselves upon the escape they had 
made from a well-merited punishment, and no doubt entered into an 
immediate consideration of what steps were best f or them to take in or- 
der to make themselves safe as to the future. They had been very fort- 
unate in escaping this time and after the warning which they had re- 
ceived* were fully cognizant of the fact that they could not expect to be 
so fortunate at another time, especially so should their recent visitors 
succeed in their endeavor to sift the whole affair to the bottom. They 
believed the mind of Mr. White was thoroughly imbued with the idea 
that they (the Hobarts) had entered into a scheme to abducL Flora, and 
they were too quick at guessing not to know that what they told him had 
not in the least succeeded in throwing him oft the scent. They felt that 
he would never rest satisfied until he had ascertained as to the truthful- 
ness of their statement about Stephen Hobart being in the neighborhood 
of his home at that time, nor, to do the Hobarts due credit, did they 
really make this statement because they thought Mr, White wonld be- 
lieve them. Their object was to gain time for the formation of other 
plans, and this they now proceeded at once to do. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


185 


CHAPTER XVi. 

The gay winter season of Nashville was at its height. Fashionable 
balls, theatre parties, select gatherings of all kinds were following each 
other in i-apid succession, and the Christmas holidays were at hand, the 
time when city life seems to don its most attractive attire and glory in 
the revels and dissipation which usually goes hand in hand with wealth, 
beauty and other attractions. Not all of life in this lovely city was so 
characterized, for like all other densely populated localities it contained 
many aching hearts, empty purses and supperless mouths. But in every 
city there is a class who know nothing of such privations and who act as 
though they believed the world was created especially for their benefit, and 
'the follies and heedless amusements of fashionable life their natural 
element and their only real object! of concern. The city of Nashville 
was not without its coterie of devoted worshippers at the shrine of wealth 
and fashionable folly, one of the leading members of which was Irene 
Thornton. 

The reader must not think, with all her natural queenly grace, her 
vivacious and attractive style, splendid attainments, and perfection in 
the art of winning the attentions of the opposite sex, that she had never 
been invited to divert her manifold attractions to the cheering of the 
domestic fireside as the mistress of a happy home of her own. There had 
not been one season since her advent into fashionable life when she did 
not have the opportunity of a choice of which many more sensible girls 
would have gladly availed themselves. She was recognized far and wide 
by the aforesaid coterie of fashionables to be ever on the lookout for an 
available party as her partner for life, and yet it appeared that she 
possessed the poor judgment of so many creatures of the butterfly va- 
riety as to never be able to know just who or what an available party 
really was after she had succeeded in the capture, 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


1 86 


Thus season after season Irene had dragged herself through the 
same maze of folly and dissipation, without really having approached 
any nearer to the goal of her ambitious desire, and now she was bringing 
to bear all the artifice which she possessed in order to carry Elsie in the 
same vortex and giddy rounds of life. While there was a good deal of 
uphill work in this last venture, still she never relaxed her effort, and 
she had begun to flatter herself that her efforts were about to be crowned 
with success. It was perfectly plain to all her acquaintances that Elsie 
was not enjoying this sort of life with the same keen zest and relish 
evinced by her elder sister, but the latter, in some mysterious way, and 
by the exertion of an influence not readily understood by others, suc- 
ceeded in forcing Elsie to keep up a certain degree of gayety for ap- 
pearance sake. 

In the midst of all the bustle and confusion of the approaching 
holidays and the various duties which society imposes upon the leading 
debutants of the season, Elsie never relinquished any of the habits to 
which she had been accustomed in her village home, the pursuance of 
which often brought to her memory recollections which in themselves 
gave more cause for real happiness than any or all of the duties which 
she had so recently acquired. She continued to arise early in the morn- 
ing, notwithstanding her sister and her aunt’s family were wrapped in 
slumber until a late hour. Thus it was that she was usually the first to 
receive the early morning mail, and frequently had time to read and 
answer her mother’s letters before greeting the other members of the 
household. These motherly letters were sources of great comfort to her, 
and she never failed to ponr out the fullness of her heart, her likes and 
dislikes, and many other things of a confidential nature in her answers 
to them. 

One morning on reading a missive from her loving mother she was 
most agreeably surprised to learn that she was about to receive a call 
from her dear young friend and former schoolmate, Chris Engle, who 
had just returned from a trip to foreign lands. He had completed his 
education in the eastern college which he had been attending something 
over a year before, since which time he had been sight-seeing in the old 
countries in order that he might receive the finishing polish considered 
necessary to young men of his wealth and standing. 

Elsie had met him but once since he had left Melton, during a visit 
in vacation, some two years previous, wh?n he appeared to be a young 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


187 


man of so much promise and with a noble and dignified bearing, that while 
she scarcely recognized in him the former playmate of so many childhood 
hours, she looked forward now to his coming with a great deal of pleas- 
ure, and felt certain that both Irene aud herself would feel honored in 
introducing him to their acquaintances. 

Still she was expecting to welcome a young man in appearance, and 
was greatly astonished a few moments after finishing her letter to find, 
herself shaking hands with a tall gentleman, bearded and bronzed, caus- 
ing him to look much older than he really was, giving the name of 
Christopher Engle. 

Elsie soon recovered from her astonishment, however, and gave him 
a most hearty welcome, and the two were shortly chatting away in the 
same confidential manner which they had been wont to do as playmates 
of former days. They talked for some time upon familiar topics which 
had formerly interested them, and Chris had not failed to give some of 
his experience, while in foreign lands, in all of which Elsie evinced the 
greatest interest, for while Chris was not entirely free from all effects of 
the advantages which he Had enjoyed beyond less favored individuals, he 
was periectly well bred and far too sensible to affect the tone and man- 
ner of so many youths who happen to take a trip across the water. 

Chris also mentioned some incident which occurred to him while in 
New York on his way home, which caused him to remember that he had 
met a distinguished citizen of Melton while there in the person of the 
new congressman-elect, Mr. Robert Fenton. 

At the mention of his name Elsie turned toward Chris eagerly with 
a look of inquiry plainly marked upon her features, but noticing that he 
was observing her earnestly and somewhat strangely, she immediately re- 
covered herself and endeavored to treat the subject indifferently, merely 
asking if Mr. Fenton appeared to be in his usual health. 

If Chris had remarked anything unusual in Elsie’s demeanor there 
was no trace of it in his voice as he proceeded. 

“I should not have been at all surprised at meeting Mr. Fenton in 
New York, remembering that possibly his new duties had called him 
east, but I must confess to a little curious surprise at finding him in the 
company of an unusually pretty young lady, thought for some reason 
best known to himself he did not honor me with an introduction. He 
geemed to be very glad to see me, however, and invited me to call upon 


i88 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


him at his hotel. My first though was that he was married and that the 
lady was his wife, but as he did not introduce me I concluded that such 
could not be the case, and since my return home I have ascertained that 
he is not married, and no one seems to know just who he could have 
been with at that time. Perhaps you are better informed upon that sub- 
ject than I, since he used to be a regular visitor at your house?” 

“I- have heard nothing from him,” said Elsie, “since he left here 
several weeks ago, and did not know that he was in New York. I think 
he has been absent in the east much longer than he intended and doubt- 
less he was only cultivating a new acquaintance when you met him.” 

‘‘Perhaps so,” returned Chris, “but I do not understand why he 
should have treated me so uncivilly as to neglect to introduce me. It 
seemed a very unusual thing for Mr. Fenton to do.” 

“Did you call upon him at the hotel?” asked Elsie. 

“Yes, but he was absent, and I could not spare the time to repeat 
the call.” 

“It does seem a little strange in Mr., Fenton, as he is so very polite 
at all times, but perhaps he would have explained himself if you had 
met him afterward.” 

“Oh, doubtless he had good reasons for his action, and I should 
have thought no more of the matter, only I had some little curiosity to 
know who the lady was and thought I might find out by mentioning the 
matter to you,” and Chris laughed a little as though he had some sus- 
picions which he evidently intended to keep to himself. 

This sally was entirely lost upon Elsie, as she sat for several 
moments apparently lost in thought. Directly she seemed to become 
conscious that she was undergoing a curious observation upon the part 
of Chris, and with an effort rallied herself and endeavored to change the 
subject of conversation by branching off upon another topic. In this 
she was so far successful that in a very brief time both were laughing and 
talking merrily, when they were interrupted by the entrance of Irene, 
who failed to recognize in Mr. Christopher Engle one of her youthful 
friends, and began an apology, saying she was not aware that Elsie had 
a visitor. 

Both Chris and Elsie could not help laughing at the ruse which 
Irene had adopted in order to ascertain who Elsie’s visitor was, and 
Chris immediately'’ stepped forward and offered his hand, addressing Iren^* 


A DIXIE gentleman. 


1^9 


by name, and asking if she had forgotten her old friend. The sound of 
his voice acted favorably upon her recollections and she greeted him 
cordially. 

“Why, I declare, it’s Chris Engle,” exclaimed she, “Where in the 
world did you come from, and how handsome you have grown. Oh, 
yes, how forgetful I am, not to know that you have just returned from 
France. But I was really surprised to find that you had changed so 
much.” 

And thus Irene rattled on in her chatty way, giving Chris only time 
to exhibit not a little degree of bashfulness. He had never felt so much 
at ease in the presence of Irene as he had in the company of her sister. 
The former had been looked upon as a perfect paragon of fashion and 
strict propriety in regard to conduct and manners, and Chris had shared 
this feeling in common with others. But he had ever looked upon Elsie 
as an equal in respect of knowledge of how a young man or lady should 
conduct themselves, and he was free to act about as he pleased in her 
presence, though his boyish admiration for her lovely self, and her many 
good qualities of heart and mind constantly reminded him not to be rude 
and forgetful. 

His training in the eastern school had given him an easy and grace- 
ful bearing that became him well, and enabled him to conduct himself 
without a feeling of embarassment in the presence of strangers whom he 
might happen to meet, but the sudden entrance of Irene had served to 
recall all his boyish fear of her dignified and statly manner, and he ex- 
perienced considerable difficulty in regaining his usual composure. But 
after he had succeeded in doing this to his satisfaction it was soon Irene’s 
turn to become surprised in the cultivation of his manners as she had at 
first been at his changed appearance. 

As he talked of his travels, and gradually revealed to her an un- 
usually bright knowledge of her own cherished world of fashion, she be- 
came quite elated at the idea of the honor she would have in introducing 
him to her fashionable friends as an old-time acquaintance. While ap- 
parently deeply interested in his conversation, her mind was busy in 
forming plans which aimed at the possibility of using Chris to the best 
advantage, and it was not long before an idea flashed upon her that 
almost revealed itself in her features, so vividly did it betray itself tocher 
mind as the one opportunity for which she had been scheming hitherto 
almost fruitlessly. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


190 


She remembered that she had never seen Elsie so apparently and 
absorbingly interested in the conversation of anyone as she was in that 
of Chris at the mom*ent she had stepped into the room. What did it 
mean? Would he at last prove an attraction for her sister that she had 
been seeking for without effect in the society of Nashville? If so, 
thought Irene, well and good. 

There was no question but what Chris and Elsie would make a well 
matched couple, according to Irene’s taste. Chris was tall, straight and 
handsome as an ideal Apollo, He was thoroughly educated after the 
most approved fashion, and could boast of an excellance in many other 
manly arts. Besides he would inherit a sufficient income to make him 
independent and able to support a wife after the most approved style. 
And then was he not already prepossessed in Elsie’s favor? She certainly 
thought none the less of him than when she would choose him for a 
playmate in the happy school days gone by. She could not urge in ob- 
jection to him the insipidity and snobbery which she so constantly ob- 
jected to in the very fashionable young men which had crowded about 
her wherever she went during the progress of the season, and Elsie was 
bound to recognize the fact that his father hadshown a remarkable degree 
of enterprise and business tact aud energy. 

All these favorable impressions passed in review before the active 
mind of Irene with great rapidity, and she at once determined to 
encourage the match in every possible way, and was greatly pleased at 
the apparently easy task she had set herself to perform. Had she been 
fortunate enough to overhear the conversation concerning Mr. Fenton 
prior to her appearance in the room, she would doubtless have seized 
upon the advantage it presented her in the furtherance of her plan, but 
it was certainly not intended for her ears, as no reference was made to it 
in her hearing. 

While thus puzzling her brain over some method by which she 
would begin at once to put her plan into execution, Chris made mention 
of an intended trip to New York early in January for the express pur- 
pose of attending a fashionable reception to be given at the house of 
one of his former college chums, and further stated that his main pur- 
pose in calling upon the young ladies that morning was to invite them 
to accompany him thither, as he had been requested to bring any ladies 
he desired by the mother of his old chum. He greatly regretted that 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN; 


191 

they would have such a brief time for preparation, but had found it im- 
possible to give them a previous notice. 

Elsie turned to her sister, expecting as a matter of course that she 
would be ready with some excuse declining the kind invitation, but to 
her great surprise and not a little chagrin, Irene expressed the greatest 
pleasure and replied that she would gladly accompany him on his trip. 
And as she saw that Elsie was about to frame some independent excuse 
of her own Irene checked her with the declaration that there was 
nothing in the world to keep them at home, and that she had been long- 
ing to revisit the scenes with which she had become familiar in her 
childhood days. 

But she could not prevent Elsie from declaring that she was afraid 
her mother would object to the trip, and that she would have to go to 
Melton to get her consent, Chris asserted that plenty of time could be 
spared for that, and furthermore that he was ready at any time to 
accompany h’er to Melton without delay. Accordingly it was arranged 
that the two should depart for Melton the next morning, while Irene 
remained in the city to make the necessary preparations for their journey 
east, and that they might make the best possible appearance on the 
night of the grand reception. 

None knew better how to make these preparations than did this 
beautiful devotee of fashion. She was determined that this should be 
the greatest conquest of her life, and nothing that money could accom- 
plish in that direction was left undone in order to enhance the beauty of 
herself or that of her lovely sister. This was to be her first appearance 
in the brilliant society of that famed eastern city, and who could tell 
but that it might prove the realization of all her past ambitious dreams, 
and that some conquest there to be made would seal her fate through 
life and place her upon the topmost round of the social ladder. To 
her mind it was a goal well worth striving for, and strive she would with 
all her might. 

Irene watched with pleasure the departure of Chris and Elsie for 
Melton being not slow to perceive that her plans involving their future 
were progressing well as she could possibly wish, and perhaps not a 
little suspicious that the opportunity now presented to Chris to declare 
himself to Elsie would be taken advantage of while journeying the long 
stage route to Melton. 


192 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


This in truth was an opportunity which Chris had greatly longed 
fort In all his absence from his childhood’s home, whether at the college 
where he had chanced to meet so many young ladies of beauty and re- 
finement, or in the foreign lands through which he had traveled where 
captivating maidens had greeted his eye at nearly every turn, there had 
not appeared to him one so altogether lovely, so completely refined, so 
maidenish and yet so pratically sensible as the playmate of his boyhood. 
Always more than half inclined to prefer her society, her captivating 
glances, and her sweet tones of welcome above all others of his ac- 
quaintance, he was now prepared to set aside all doubt of his own feel- 
ings upon the subject of his future happiness, for nowhere had he met 
one who filled his ideal of a woman so completely. If he had felt such 
a tenderness toward her in early years, carrying a loving rememberance 
of her through all the days and years of his long absence, why, he asked 
himself,, should he restrain his love for her now — now that he had re- 
turned to find in her all those lovely attractions which are usually so en- 
gaging to members of the male persuasion. 

Somehow the ride to Melton over the long, tedious stage-coach 
route was not half so tedious to either of the two occupants of the old 
stage as it had ever seemed before, though they happened to be the only 
passengers, and the driver proved to be an acquaintance of long-standing. 
They chatted gaily of familiar persons and scenes along the way, dis- 
cussed the former inhabitants of Melton pro and con, and altogether 
formed such an agreeable party that the tall hills surrounding Melton 
appeared to their astonished vision before they realized their journey’s 
end to be so near. 

This reminded Chris that he had not yet availed himself of his op- 
portunity to ascertain what fate might have in store for him, and really 
frightened him so that he suddenly relapsed into temporary silence. 
Not possessing an inkling of the true canse of his sudden change of de- 
meanor, Elsie began to rally him upon the subject, and volunteered so 
much as a penny for his thoughts. 

Notwithstanding the careful training he had received, Chris was 
very much inclined to be impulsive, and the familiar confidence which 
Elsie had ever shown toward him led him to believe that he possessed as 
much favor in her fancy as she had for him. He did not stop to reason 
that it would be rash folly to presume upon his old-time acquaintance. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


193 


and to claim her love and admiration as his jnst due upon such grounds. 
He failed to remember that while her beauty and sweet, gentle disposition 
had charmed him to a degree that he -was willing to confess his love for 
her, yet he was somewhat of a stranger to her and that he must not 
count too much upon a handsome appearance alone to win the battle for 
him, since she had been quite surrounded for several weeks together with 
handsome gentlemen, some of them gifted to a rare degree. 

All that Chris seemed to remember in his sudden fright was the fact 
that a golden opportunity was fast slipping away,, and that a rallying ef- 
fort just now would capture for him a handsome prize, aud make him 
for life the very happiest of men. This thought nerved him to courage 
for the undertaking, and,' glancing to see that the driver was dozing 
away on his box on the outside of the coach, and that there was no dan- 
ger of being overheard, he said slowly and calmly: 

“Elsie, we are drawing closer and closer to our old home, and very 
soon we shall be separated for several days. Before this happens I want 
to say something to you that has been in my min4 all day, and possibly 
a better chance may never occur again.” 

His grave manner and quiet tone caused Elsie to glance at Chris 
wonderingly yet keenly, and realizing that he was really in earnest she 
settled back in her seat with a more than usually thoughful look in her 
bright eyes. 

“When we were playmates together,” Chris resumed after a pause, 
“somehow I always preferred your society to that of the others, and you 
always seemed to be more considerate in your treatment of me than did 
anyone else. I was always proud to do you a favor, and you never 
failed to appreciate them, and to show such appreciation by your man- 
ner. It was such action upon your part that led me, in leaving home, to 
request you would correspond with me, and I can say truthfully that you 
have never failed to remember and comply graciously with that request. 
Your letters have always cheered me in homesickness and loneliness, 
and when others seemed to be so neglectful of myself you never failed 
to comfort me. For all this I am far more grateful than I can find 
words to express. But since I have returned home I have realized more 
than ever before that I must crave even a greater boon at your hands 
than all you have ever done— the greatest that woman can give to man. 
I know that I possess your friendship, and I value it above that of all 


194 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


others, but if peace, happiness and contentment are to be my future por- 
tion I must ask for your love. None whom I have ever met possess one- 
half the attraction for me that I find in you, and I assure you, my lifelong 
friend, that you have obtained complete possession of my heart. Dear- 
est Elsie, do you, can you give me your love in return.” 

And as he terminated his confession he laid his hand gently upon 
hers, and looked searchingly into her face for a single ray of hope. But 
Elsie sat still for some moments, with downcast eyes, as if fearing to dis- 
close the disappointment which those lovely orbs might unfold to the 
keen vision of the young man. She was stupefied by the shock which 
had fallen upon her senses when his words began to indicate the import- 
ant outcome or termination of his speech. Never had the possibility 
of such an occasion as this, with her old-time friend Chris as hero, pre- 
sented itself to her imagination before. She was not only startled be- 
yond measure but deeply pained at his confe ssion, and when at last she 
raised her eyes to his face they were filled with tears. 

Chris at once discovered that a serious mistake existed somewhere 
and began to feel that he had been over hasty and rash, exclaimed rather 
excitedly. 

“Oh. Elsie, have I hurt you, then? Tell me it is not so. I did not 
mean to be so foolish. Do speak to me, or I shall die with suspense.” 

Elsie released her hand from his grasp, and brushed the tears from 
^^er eyes, struggling bravely to keep from breaking down, as she said in 
tremulous tones: 

“Chris, I am astonished beyond measure at your words, and must 
admit that I am greatly pained, but it is because of the sincere affection 
I have always felt for you since I can hardly remember. I am pained 
at what must prove to be your dissapointment if you really love me, for 
I have never thought of you in that way. You have always possessed 
my earnest wishes for success and happiness, and I believe that you 
could never be capable of doing anything that would cause me to forfeit 
the confidence I have placed in you, but I am positive that you have 
made a mistake in centering your affections upon me. All that I can do 
to promote your happiness in life will be done gladly, and I ask no re- 
turn but that you continue as you have begun, an horonable and useful 
career. Heaven will select for you a dearer, closer love than it is in my 
power to give, and I trust that you will endeavor to rectify this mistake 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


I9S 

at once. Promise me that you will do what I ask, won’t you Chris?” 

It was clearly Chris’ turn to be mystified now. It was plain that 
he had fallen into an error somewhere, and yet he could not understand 
it all. Elsie was the dearest friend on earth to him, and yet she solemnly 
declared that she could not love him enough to be his companion through 
life. Had he jumped to the conclusion that because he was charmed 
by her beauty, she, too, was equally charmed and that love had always 
existed between them, as evidenced by her gentle demeanor toward him? 
Pie could not bring himself to agree with Elsie that he was mistaken in 
his love for her, and slowly the suspicion began to form itself in his mind 
that the recesses of her heart were already preoccupied by an affection 
which left no room for another’s. 

However this might be, he could not but profess the utmost respect 
for her wishes, which would have the effect of restoring the old-time 
cordial relations between them, and also give him time to recuperate his 
bewildered senses. He told her that he would endeavor to wait in pa- 
tience until such a time as she could become thoroughly convinced that 
he had made no mistake, and he secretly resolved that he would make 
that time as short as possible. If he found it was true that she had al- 
ready given her heart to another, then he would retire from the field and 
quietly resign himself to his doom of a miserable future life. But if she 
were still heart-whole and fancy free, as he could not help hoping and 
believing, then he was more than ever determined to win her, for he now 
felt that she was dearer to him than ever before. 

Soon the stage-coach rolled into Melton, and Elsie was assisted to 
alight at her father’s door, where she was at once enfolded in the em- 
braces of her loving parents, while Chris sought his own home. 

When Elsie mentioned the proposed trip of herself and sister to the 
east, she at once noted the look of disapointment which sprang into the 
eyes of both her father and mother, for they had been so pleased to 
think she had returned to make them a long visit. She had secretly 
hoped that they would raise such serious objections that she would be 
compelled to abandon the idea of going, but however much they might 
have wished to do so they said nothing that could be constructed into a 
loophole for her escape from the journey. 

On the following morning, however, Mrs. Thornton was not feeling 
as well as usual, and toward noon she began to get seriously ill, being 


196 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


forced from aching head and limbs to go to bed. This illness was pro- 
nounced by the family physican to be of rather a serious nature, and it 
was possible that it might be protracted, and that she would need good 
nursing and medical attendance. 

Elsie immediately decided to remain at home, and that afternoon 
she wrote a letter to Irene that she would have to aecompany Chris alone 
since she was afraid to leave her mother for so long a time. Two days 
afterward she received a reply from Irene, in which she begged Elsie to 
go with them if possible, but Mrs. Thornton was still no better, and 
when Chris called that evening he was definitely informed by Elsie that 
she could not go. 

Accordingly the next day he started back to Nashville, and after 
all preparations had been completed they boarded an eastern train hav- 
ing just two days to spare to reach New York in time for the great 
event. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


197 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Elsie Thornton was thoroughly glad to find that she was to be left 
behind to care for her mother, and the fears of the latter that she had 
caused her daughter to miss a great pleasure were soon quieted by a 
reassuring kiss and Elsie’s denial that she really cared to go at all. 
“And yet,” she asked herself over and over again, “why was it that I 
did not want to go? There would have been gay music, fine ball rooms, 
lovely dresses, and so many fashionable young men and women. I 
should have seen so many wonderful sights in the great city that I shall 
never meet with at Melton or in Nashville.” But notwithstanding' all 
this Elsie was glad she remained at home, where she began to exper- 
ience an agreeable change from the gay, exciting life of the past few 
weeks. 

While engaged in the household duties of her quiet village borne, 
trying to fill her mother’s place, and seeing that she had all necessary 
attention, Elsie had more time for reflection than she could call her own 
for a long time past, and the burden of her thoughts soon proved to be 
the air of mystery which surrounded Mr. Fenton of late. Why was he 
staying away so long when he declared that he should be absent only for 
a short time? Why was it that he had never written a message to her 
— a single word of loving rememberance, or any other kind of word — 
since his departure? Had his pretended affection for her begun to wane 
so soon after coming in contact with the busy world far away, and had 
he already began to yield admiration to somebody whom he met and 
happened to fancy was more lovely than herself? No, no, Elsie did not 
for a moment give harbor to such thoughts as these toward him whom 
she believed to be as one of nature’s noblemen, but something kept on 
suggesting them to her mind, no matter how quickly she would drive 
them away. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


198 


One idea concering Mr. Fenton really did seem to fasten itself upon 
her mind, which was that he had been fortunate enough to meet with 
some companionable lady acquaintance in the strange city where he had 
gone, and thus, however irksome his duties, yet possibly she might 
brighten for him the lonely hours until his return home. 

But it must not be said that one truant thought of him was lodged 
in her mind, for Elsie had now for some time resolved to accept him in 
her heart as her king and hero. All doubt of her full, complete love for 
him was swept aside on the night of his speech at the theater, as Fenton 
believed she would, but as he stood before the vast audience, almost 
transported by his theme, she recognized what many others could not fail 
to have done, that he was a man among men, that he was gifted, gen- 
erous and noble, and that she had indeed been greatly honored when he 
had designed to bow himself at her feet. One thought had settled itself 
upon her mind then, causing her to go home that night in a sober mood, 
and perhaps it had never as yet received, to her mind, a full, satisfying 
answer, and that was whether an humble, contented little body like 
hefself would make for him the most suitable companion in that great 
and honored career which she now felt he was certainly destined to fill. 

But though this question had never been fully decided, Elsie no 
longer doubted that she loved Fenton with a stronger love than she 
would ever be capable of yielding to any other human being. So com- 
pletely indeed did she realize it on that night in Nashville that if Fenton 
had exhibited any disposition toward receiving his final answer from her 
on that occasion she would willingly have yielded all into his keeping for 
life. 

With what blissful dreams of a happier life awaiting her in the very 
near future did the night swiftly glide away, and Elsie had only arisen 
the hext morning when Fenton’s hastily penciled note of farewell was 
handed her. For a moment it was almost like a shock, and the news of 
his sudden departure sounded like a bad omen to her, and then she 
laughed almost hysterically to think how foolish she was becoming al. 
ready. Still it was some time before she finally succeeded in shaking 
off a little feeling of disappointment and remembered that he would 
again be with her in a few more days when she would certainly contrive 
by some means to let Fenton know that she had reached the decision he 
was so anxiously awaiting to hear. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


199 


Then Elsie had entered into the gayeties of the season with her sis- 
ter in apparent enjoyment for a few days, which led Irene into the be- 
lief that Elsie was at last becoming enchanted with her new life, which 
she had hitherto professed to regard as very insipid and uninteresting. 
She was ready to acquiesce in any and every proposal for amusement 
that would seem to contribute to Irene’s pleasure, and surprised many 
of her new acquaintances by the vivacity and cheerfulness which she dis- 
played. 

But when the days of Fenton’s absence had lengthened into weeks, 
and not even a word of rememberance of her had come from him, it began 
to be difficult lor Elsie to comply cheerfully with society’s demands. 
She felt as never before the deep womanly love she bore him. No 
matter what he had seemed to her before, she knew that her heart craved 
for his love, and that her eyes longed to behold his dear face — so inex- 
pressibly dear to her now. She was growing more and more anxious for 
his return day after day, and every letter received from her mother and 
every visitor at the door was watched for with anxious eyes, in the hope 
that something might be learned of the mysterious absence of her lover. 

In this condition she was when Chris Engle had called upon her 
and while-she would allow no ill-bred feelings of jealousy to fill her heart 
at the news of Fenton’s new acquaintance, she was very ill at ease and 
wondered still more at his long silence, as she knew that he was well 
and seemed to have time to spare. While this strange mystery remained 
unexplained — and Elsie felt herself powerless to prosecute an explanation 
— there could be but little peace for her poor heart, and all thoughts of 
the gay life she and her sister had been leading became exceedingly dis- 
tasteful to her, and accordingly she at once resolved to find some excuse 
to forsake it all. With this idea uppermost she determined to go to 
quiet old Melton, and once there she soon found a way to remain. 

Doubtless, at the time of Chris’ proposal in the stage coach, if Elsie 
had been absolutely certain that Fenton intended to press the suit which 
he had so ardently began on the night of his election, she would have 
given Chris some intimation of the way in which the wind was blowing, 
but somehow, after all the circumstances as related, she did not feel quite 
free to do so, and was compelled to allow Chris to pursue his mad in- 
fatuation for hereselt, without even extending him a helping hand. 

It may be readily surmised that Chris and Irene had not journeyed very 
far on the long route from the city of Nashville to New York before the 


200 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


latter had drawn from him a full and complete confession of his proposal 
to and rejection by Elsie. Irene had guessed as much on her first view 
of Chris’ face after his return from Melton, and to say she wasdisapointed 
would very feebly express her feelings. When she ascertained from him 
a verification of her surmises she was very indignant at Elsie’s action, 
and secretly resolved that she would find some way in which to punish 
her for the rejection of such an elegant offer. 

Irene consoled Chris very much by assuriug him that when they re- 
turned home she would take a hand in the affair herself, and she prided 
herself greatly upon knowing just how to manage Elsie to perfection. 
Irene felt that this would do well enough to tell Chris, even if there was 
no great amount of truth in it, and she reasoned that when she had suc- 
ceeded in administering a severe rebuke to Elsie that she could coax her 
into the marriage for the sake of herself and family, by holding up the 
bright prospect which would be presented to her. 

Thus after disposing of Elsie to their entire satisfaction for the 
present, the two travelers .turned their attention to a thorough discus- 
sion of the gay event so soon to take place at their journey’s end, and 
frequently expressed fears lest something unlooked-for might happen to 
prevent arrival at their destination in ample time. But this unlooked- 
for something did not happen, and promptly at noon on the day of the 
reception they arrived at the depot of the great metropolis. 

Irene had previously accepted the invitation of some of her own ac- 
quaintances to visit them while in the city, and whose private convey- 
ance was awaiting her at the depot. Under Chris’ escort she reached at 
last the fashionable residence of her friends, who gave her a most cordial 
welcome, and there Chris left her to prepare for the reception, to whii h 
he would escort her in the evening. 

For this extraordinary occasion Irene had made some special orders 
with the eastern city’s most fashionable modistes, among which was a 
charming ball dress of exquisite pattern, and which proved for the south- 
ern beauty a rare and lovely adornment. This with her other orders 
were ready and awaiting her arrival, and when the hour to attend the 
reception came it found her dressed and waiting, needing only the finish- 
ing touches of the handsome boquet brought by Chris to complete her 
perfect attire and compel wonder at the charming vision. 

When Irene, leaning upon the arm of Chris Engle, entered the 
crowded ball-room of Mrs. Ralph Gerston, whose residence on Murray 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


Ibi 


Hill was one of the finest and most palatial graystone pattern, a mur- 
mur of hushed admiration ran around the room. Irene heard it and was 
satisfied. No more direct information could have been given her that 
she had conquered. .From that moment she was voted the belle on 
every hand, and a score of handsome beaux pressed about their charm- 
ing hostess, begging for a presentation to the latest addition in New 
York’s bon ton. Irene received them all in her most gracious mood, 
and Charlie Gerston, son of the hostess and schoolmate of Chris, declared 
his old chum to be' the most fortunate fellow in the class, in having the 
exclusive privilege of such beautiful companionship. 

Chris acknowledged that Irene might prove rather dangerous as a 
companion for an inexperienced young man like Charles, but that he was 
too much under.the spell of her sister Elsie to be affected by Irene’s 
machinations. 

, “You are only guying me now, Chris,” said Charles, “for cer- 
tainly Miss Thornton has no sister who can approach her in point of 
beauty,” 

“But the facts are against your assertion nevertheless,” rejoined 
Chris, “as every one who has met her sister thinks differently from you, 
though she possesses a different type of beauty from Irene, being a per- 
fect type of the blonde.” 

“Ah, there it is; you may choose the blonde, but give me the south- 
ern brunette,” said Charles as the two separated. 

The utmost skill of the florist had been employed by Mr. Gerston 
in the decorations for that evening, and the rarer t exotics from the city’s 
choiciest green houses mingled with the hardy shrubs, pines and ever- 
greens of America’s winter forests. The interior of the stately structure 
though in the midst of winter, was indeed like a representation of fairy- 
land. A perfume of violets mingled with that of roses tinged the pleas- 
ant warmth of rooms, halls and stairways, and the gay throng, as it 
moved backwards and fro, now whirling in the giddy mazes of terpsi- 
chore, now promenading the wide hallways, now vanishing from one 
room and again appearing under a crowned arch of roses in another, 
seemed like creatures of another world. 

In the midst of this scene of brilliant splendor, Irene, the brunett- 
ish offset of it all, was careful to keep the dark-hued roses well in back- 
ground, thus forming a counterpart of which she herself seemed the most 
sparkling setting that incandescent floods of light ever shone upon^ 


^02 


A X ) mi ^ gentleman. 


Many were the fair dames of the great metropolis who cast envious 
glances in her direction, but which shivered themselves to atoms as they 
struck her bright coat of mail and fell harmless at her side. 

Did Irene enjoy this clashing warfare of threatening glances? Ask 
the beautiful humming-bird if it revels in its sips of the sweet honey- 
suckle blossoms as it swiftly flies from place to place. She was certainly 
in her glory now, if there be any glory in fashionable life. This was the 
finale for which she had always longed, and Irene was doubtless a 
supremely happy woman for a few brief hours. Alas, that it could not 
last forever, or even for a few more golden hours, when she felt reason- 
ably certain that the remainder of her days would be peace and content- 
ment. 

During one of her few leisure moments, when she had time to glance 
about her and study the physique of the gay throng, she was looking at 
the end of a long room with a sort of half listless gaze. Suddenly as if 
drawn thitherward by the magnetism of the man, her astonished vision 
rested upon the familiar figure of Robert Fenton. 

Had the electric arch above her head detached itself from its fasten- 
ings and dropped at her feet, her astonishment could not have been 
greater, and she was covered with confusion at the inquiry of one of her 
attendants as to what had so engrossed her attention that she had not 
heard a remark he had just made. Irene explained that she thought she 
recognized an old acquaintance, but she must have been mistaken, and 

V 

in a few moments had recovered her natural self again. 

Mr. Fenton, for it was certainly he, had but just entered the room 
for a moment and had retired again, doubtless without having noticed 
the presence of Irene, which would possibly have caused as much surprise 
upon his part as hers. 

The evening wore on without further incidents of an annoying nature 
to Irene, though she constantly expected to be brought face to face with 
Mr. Fenton before the evening had passed away, until an hour or more 
had flown rapidly by. 

Then it was she heard an exclamation behind her that caused her to 
turn to see who the speaker was. She perceived that her hostess was 
engaged in unfolding some news of a rather startling nature to a lady 
acquaintance, and the mention of a young Southern Congressman caused 
Irene to listen 'intently to the conversation. 


A GeNtleMAR 


265 


Mrs. Gerston was relating the story of a young girl who had been at 
work for a few days in her own kitchen, but who had been taken sud- 
denly ill. Of a kind-hearted nature, Mrs. Gerston had prevented the 
girl from being sent to the hospital, and having by some means obtained 
her true name and being satisfied that she was very near death’s door and 
that she must have relatives who would probably like to know her where- 
abouts, although the girl had declined to give their names or address, 
the hostess had caused an advertisement, containing the girl’s name and 
present address and the fact of her illness, to be inserted in the daily 
papers. 

Nothing was heard from anyone, however, until the ball was in 
progress, when only an hour or so before the servants had reported that 
a young man had called and presented the card of a young congressman, 
and had asked to see the girl, and the two had a short conversation to- 
gether, when the young man had procured a conveyance and carried the 
girl away, no one knew where. He had assured the servants, however, 
that the girl was in the hands of friends, and that he would call again 
and explain fully to the hostess. 

“Did you say that you received the young man’s card?” asked Mrs. 
Gerston’s friend. 

“Yes, and here it is now,” and as she spoke she held up a card bear- 
ing the name of Robert Fenton, M. C, written in a plain bold hand. 

“The name which she gave and which I advertised was that of Flora 
Hexam.” 

This was all that Irene heard, and yet the look of cunning that 
might have been seen in her eyes denoted the fact that she had heard 
quite enough to serve a purpose which she had in view. What would 
Elsie think now, when forced to believe that her hero of so many years 
had proven nothing more or less than a common deceiver. Yet, Irene 
felt that she had all the proof needed to convince the most skeptical of 
the fact. She knew there could be no mistake concerning his identity, be- 
cause she had seen him in the ballroom not over an hour before, and 
where was he now, that he could not refute the charge which she was 
fully prepared to make against him? He was certainly in the presence 
of the girl with whom he had recently become fascinated. Thus reason- 
ed Irene, and she resolved thafc she would lose no time in acquainting 
Elsie with all the facts she learned there and her own deductions there. 


i64 


A DIXIE gentleman. 


from for the purpose of alienating from him the affections of her sister, 
which Irene felt sure had been the cause of Chris’ rejection at the hands 
of her sister. 

While on their way home from the'ball that night Irene confided to 
Chris the fact that she had some very important news to tell him, which 
she thought would settle the question of his love affair with Elsie, but 
that she could not tell him what it was until they were on their way 
home from the city. 

Chris was eager to know the cause for such delay, but Irene was de- 
termined to have her own way, and accordingly he was forced to await 
her pleasure. Her object was simply to keep the matter from Chris un- 
til they were well on their way home, so that he could have no oppor- 
tunity to investigate the matter for himself, as she intuitively felt that 
Chris was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of misrepresenta- 
tion even to win his suit at Elsie’s hands. 

> A week of enjoytnent passed pleasantly and quickly away following 
the night of the ball, during which Irene greatly enlarged her circle of 
acquaintances in the city, and promised to return again sometime in the 
near future and make a longer visit. She was almost invariably accom- 
panied in the various fashionable calls which she was under the necessity 
of making by young Charles Gerston, who had hastended to acknow- 
ledge himself her devoted slave, and when the time for her departure 
from the city drew near he was almost overjoyed at the invitation ex- 
tended to him by Irene and Chris to accompany them to their southern 
home. He accepted it without the slightest hestitation, though consid- 
erably to the annoyance cf Irene, who for some reason had not greatly 
fancied him. That he was a young man of wealth and fashion she 
could not deny, and would doubtless have been considered a great 
“catch” by many marriageable young ladles. But he did not come up 
to the required standard which Irene had set for herself, and she gave 
him no real encouragement to press his suit. Yet she had been a visitor 
at his mother’s house, and she was compelled to treat him with an out- 
ward show of politeness, which he was not slow to mistake for sincerity 
upon her part. 

Somehow it seemed to be Irene’s misfortune to attract the notice 
of just such 2^oung men, while her object was in reality just the 
reverse. She was seeking a wealthy alliance, but at the same 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


205 


time she wanted a husband noted for his refinement, intellect and 
cultivation. She was sensible enough to know that mere wealth 
and fashion were not sufficient to place her at the very head of the 
charmed circle inhabitanted by the people of rank, and yet she seemed 
striving to attain such a prize by adopting the very means which, as said 
before, attracted the class of men she had no desire to attract. She 
donned the blandishments, the gaudy colors and manners of a butterfly 
of fashion, and was accordingly assigned by superior minds to that class of 
people, and given no credit for the possession of a mind more richly 
adorned with common sense and real refinement. Thus it was she had 
never been satisfied with her station in life, and just now could scarcely 
advoid showing her indifference to the devoted attentions of young 
G erst on. 

In consequence of his watchful care for her comfort, entertainment 
and convenience, Irene found no opportunity while journeying homeward 
to impart her secret to Chris which she had promised him to do on the 
night of the ball, and was forced to wait until they could have a more 
private meeting at home. 

On arriving at Nashville, and hearing that her.mother was still con- 
fined to her bed, Irene decided to go immediately to Melton, and was 
accordingly accompanied thither by her two escorts, Charles and Chris. 
They formed a lively party for the old stage-coach, and the quiet country 
folks along the road were frequently hailed with keen sallies of wit and 
pleasantry, which set them to wondering who those city dudes could be, 
and how they had found their way out into the woods and dales of their 
oul-of-the way places of abode. 

But at last the hilltops surroundtng Melton were soon reached, and 
the old coach had descended into the confines of that quaint little village 
Irene had alighted at her father’s home, and after receiving the promise 
of her young escorts to visit herself and family on the following day, she 
hurried into the presence of her mother and Elsie, who were astonished 
but greatly delighted at the sudden and unexpected return, without 
previous warning of her intention. 

Irene was glad to find her mother sufficiently recovered to be able 
to sit up in her chair, since her conscience had been upbraiding her 
somewhat for her neglect in leaving her in her illness for the purpose of 
purely selfish enjoyment of her own. 


2o6 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


Judge Thornton came home soon after, and gave his daughter a 
cordial welcome home, and after the family had spent an hour or more 
in pleasant chat, the young ladies retired to their own room, supposedly 
for the purpose ot a good, long nap, as the old judge said, to freshen up 
their beauty for the morrow, but in reality to exchange the long confi- 
dences which seem to be a part and a parcel of every lady’s pleasure in 
ante-married life. 

Elsie at once began to ply her sister with questions in regard to 
her visit, and for a while Irene greatly entertained her by describing 
what she had seen and heard, the styles and costumes worn at the ball, 
and how she had captured the admiring glances of so many beaux, to 
the great discomfiture of some of New York’s acknowledged beauties. 

But suddenly, as if just remembering the serious duty she had to 
perform, she stopped short in her gay rambling chat, and assumed a very 
serious air, which caused Elsie to ask wonderingly what she was think- 
ing of. 

“I was thinking of an occurrence which took place during the prog- 
ress of the ball, and right in Mrs. Gerston’s own house, which greatly 
concerns one whom w.e all know, as I am greatly afraid, far too well. 

“What was it, and whom do you mean?” queried Elsie hastily in 
the same breath. 

Irene then proceeded to relate the details of the affair concerning 
Flora Hexam and Mr. Fenton, not forgetting to add her own opinion 
concerning the dissolute character of the latter, and falsely attributing 
that opinion to Mrs. Gerston and her lady friend as a portion of the 
conversation she had heard pass between them. 

Elsie’s face during the recital of this story assumed a ghastly hue, 
and she made no attempt to conceal from Irene that she was greatly af- 
fected by it. She burst into tears, and between sobs which greatly 
choked her utterance endeavored to protest that there must be some hor- 
rible mistake, and that it could not have been Mr. Fenton, whom she 
had learned to look upon as the most noble man she had ever met. 

Irene pretended io be greatly astonished at the knowledge of her 
sister’s love for such an unworthy man, and lectured her roundly for her 
folly when she herself had oftentimes warned her against him. 

“Bui, sister,” sobbed Elsie, “you always have been prejuiced against 
him, and I think utterly with cause, and I think it not utterly impossi- 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


^ 207 


bie that you are mistaken even now. I cannot believe that he is the 
man you seem to think,” 

‘‘But I know that I am not mistaken,” asserted Irene persistently, 
“and I do not think that I ever have been, The very fact that he was 
at Mrs. Gerston’s reception without an invitation, and that he only re- 
mained a few minutes, proved conclusively that he carried the girl away. 
Do you think that I can doubt my own eyes and ears together? 

“Oh, I do not understand it at all,” moaned Elsie. “Perhaps he 
was only befriending her in her trouble for old acquaintance sake.” 

“Not at all likely, I assure you,” replied Irene. “Young men of 
Mr. Fenton’s sort do not take so much trouble to befriend a girl after 
she has been turned out of doors, without some sinister purpose in view. 
Besides all that, let me ask you what business has Mr. Fenton in New 
York? I thought he was in Washington attending to his duties. It is 
very clear to me that he has been deceiving some people, and you are 
doubtless one of them.” 

“Please stop, Irene, I cannot hear you talk so. It seems like a 
horrid dream to me, and I cannot awake from it. You ask why he was 
in New York. Certainly I am not posted concerning his affairs, and 
have not heard from him until this morning. He' wrote from Washington 
and said that his business there was concluded for the present, and that 
he should be here the latter part of the week.” 

“And he takes pains to keep you posted about a portion of his 
movements, while as to the rest he is silent. Now tell me, Elsie, just 
how far matters have progressed between you. Are you engaged to him?” 

“No.” 

“Has he proposed to you?” 

“What right have you to know?” said Elsie, doubting whether she 
had best make a full confession to her sister. 

“The right every person has to watch after the welfare of a sister.” 
replied Irene in a somewhat imperious tone. “But you need not answer 
my question if you do not wish to. I am certain that he has proposed 
to you, and I do not believe that you have refused him. Am I not 
right? ’ 

“Yes,” said Elsie somewhat reluctantly. 

“Then he is still waiting for an answer?” 

“I suppose that be is^ at least he tpld me that he would wait.’* 


2o8 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


“Oh, you needn’t be afraid but that he will wait until you get 
ready. I give him credit for being a deep designing, crafty man, and he 
would willingly marry you if he could. But I have warned you against 
him, and I tell you* now that if you do not refuse him at once I shall 
acquaint papa with all the facts which I have learned concerning him. 
In fact I think it is my duty to do so at once. He will certainJy prove 
a treacherous friend sooner or later.” 

But Irene had reckoned regardless of consequences, if she thought to 
win a victory over her sister so easily. There was more of the Thornton 
grit and determination in her sister than Irene had ever dreamed to be 
possible, and now it began to assert itself, much to her astonishment. 
A spirit of injustice, intentional or unintentional as the case might be, 
at the manner in which Mr. Fenton had always been treated by Irene 
was now fully aroused in Elsie’s breast, and she could not help feel- 
ing that if he were only there it would be an easy matter for him to ex- 
plain away all the doubts which Irene had implied concerning his char- 
acter, and believing this, Elsie felt that she ought to stand up for him 
in his absence. But there was really some difficulty for her to assume a 
really tenable ground in an argument against the overpowering assertions 
of her sister. Elsie did not believe these assertion?, and yet how could 
she refute them? Fenton had in truth not shown her much considera- 
tion of late. He had been seen by Chris enjoying himself in the society 
of a beautiful young lady, and yet he had not as much as designed to ac- 
quaint his sweetheart with the existence of such a thing.^ He had be- 
friended another stranger in a secret manner, as if endeavoring to hide his 
actions from public view, and yet he had made no mention of this in 
the letter she had received from him that morning. In fact, he had not 
even mentioned an assurance of his continued love for her, but simply 
acquainted her with the fact of his home-coming in the most indifferent 
manner. She had noted all this previously with a feeling of wonder- 
ment and a tinge of sadness, and yet notwithstanding she had felt hope- 
ful that all was well. But even now, though she felt that she might 
possibly have some occasion to doubt his constancy, she would exhibit 
no signs of that doubt in the presence of Irene, especially until Mr. Fen- 
ton had an opportunity to answer for himself. But she knew that she 
must do something to satisfy Irene for the present, and then she hoped 
that a few hours more would refute her charges against him com- 
pletely. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


2o() 


“I will admit,” she said to Irene, “that -without some explanation 
from Mr. Fenton his actions at present look a little strange, but I as- 
sure you that I have the utmost confidence in him, and believe that he 
can set everything right. But I must request that if you have any con- 
sideration for my feelings that you will mention this matter to no one, 
not even papa, until Mr Fenton arrives at home. If you will keep 
silent until then I give you my most sacred promise that if Mr. Fenton 
does not fully and freely answer all your charges against him of his own 
free will, then I will reject him at once, Do you consent to this?” 

“Why, yes, I suppose I must,” said Irene, though scarcely able to 
repress a show of the complete victory which she believed she had won 
over her inexperienced sister. But remember that I shall hold you 
strictly to your promise.” 

At length the young ladies sought the oblivion produced by sweet 
refreshing sleep, and the morrow found them ready to entertain their 
visitors. For notwithstanding the longing desire of Elsie to be able to 
free herself of the dreadful doubts to which the insinuating words and 
tones of Irene had given rise, and which seemed to be ever endeavoring 
to force their weight down upon her spirits like a pall, yet she exerted 
herself to the utmost to hide all traces of it from her sister and parents, 
and her visitors never even su^ected that she was not the same 
free, careless, happy-hearted maiden for which qualities she had always 
been so dearly beloved by all who became acquainted with her. 


A DIXIE gentleman. 




CHAPTER XVIII. 

When Chris had heard Charles Gerston’s careless remark about pre- 
ferring brunettes to blondes, he believed there could be no risk to his 
own peace of mind caused by the introduction of Charles to Elsie. If 
the nature of Charles had been cast in the same mold as that of Chris 
Engle, perhaps there would have been no danger, for then he should 
have felt pretty certain that he knew his own mind and was well ac- 
quainted with his own particular fancy toward the opposite sex. But 
Chris was not at all correct in his supposition. Really the ideas which 
Charles entertained regarding the particular type of beauty which pleased 
him most were subject to many varied changes, and the particular type 
was not so much a subject of consideration with him as he had er- 
roneously supposed. Hence it was that when Elsie Thornton and 
Charles Gerston were brought face to face, the latter immediately con- 
fessed to himself that it was love at first sight. 

Irene was no longer the idol of his heart or the apple of his eye. 
He thought Elsie was the most beautiful and charming creature whom 
he had ever met. And he was vain enough to suppose that Elsie was 
mutually attracted by his appearance, since she treated him with the ut- 
most urbanity, as she did all others, and in a manner that clearly out- 
lined her sweet and amiable disposition. 

It was not long, however, before Elsie noticed that Chris did not 
take kindly to the decided partiality which Charles evinced for her, to 
the neglect of Irene, from the first. This knowledge gave her an op- 
portunity to study a trait in the character of Chris to which her eye had 
never been opened before, and which caused her to be thankful that she 
had avoided a great danger in one direction at least — one which has 
wrecked the lives of so many poor unfortunates — that of wedding a man 
possessed of a jealous disposition. 


A DtXtfe GENtTLI^MAN. 


rii 


Chris, though far to well-bred and polite to make an exhibition of 
his real feelings at that particular period, was not able to supply his usual 
flow of entertaining conversation, and appeared to be rather in too much 
of a brown study to suit Irene’s lively nature. Accordingly she made 
some trivial excuse to get him into the library, where she was 
able to make him acquainted with the secret concerning Mr. Fenton 
which she had been longing so much to tell him. 

When she had finished she was somewhat astonished to find that 
Chris, instead of being surprised at her story, was pondering more deeply 
than before, and she at length made inquire of what he was studying so 
intently. 

“I was simply endeavoring,” he answered slowly, “by putting two 
and two together to unravel the mystery concerning Mr. Fenton. I 
greatly suspicion that neither you nor Mrs. Gerston have arrived at a 
true solution of his motives in claiming the right to look after this girl’s 
interests, and I’ll give you my reasons for thinking so. It is my belief 
that this girl whom you call Flora Hexain is the same in whose company 
I found Mr. Fenton while I was passing through New York on my way 
home from Europe. It is true he did not introduce me, as we only 
hastily recognized each other, and simply talked together long enough to 
appoint a place of meeting for that night at his hotel. But he did not 
seem at all taken aback by being recognized in her company, and appeared 
to be striving his utmost to entertain her. Notwithstanding his efforts, 
however, I could not help noting, in the brief moments that I watched 
her, that she had the apparance of being in great distress about some- 
thing, and was anxious to hurry on. I have since concluded that this 
was the reason Mr. Fenton did not introduce me to her, and not that he 
was at all ashamed of her or himself.” 

“But I do not at all agree with you in your conclusion,” answered 
Irene rather impatiently. “And I think what you have said is only an 
assurance that he has succeeded in getting himself into a very disgraceful 
affair, and I intend to see that Elsie shall waste no more affection upon 
him. There is no reason why you should not feel highly encouraged at 
the present outlook as regards the state of Elsie’s affections.” 

“It seems that she has taken quite a fancy to that young coxcomb 
in the parlor,” said Chris, somewhat quizzically, as if desiring to know 
whether Irene viewed their actions in the light he had done, 


A DtXtE GENTLEMAN. 


21 ^ 


“Why, I declare! What a jealous goose you are,” laughed Irene 
rather contemptuously. “Can’t you bear to have her look at anyone else, 
or to see anyone admire her beauty but yourself. You deserve to be 
punished. But I it’s nothing serious.” And Irene laughed so heartily 
that Chris could not help blushing at the blunder he had made in ac- 
knowledging his jealousy to Irene. 

This had the effect, however, of restoring Chris’ former good humor, 
at least for a season, and the two returned to the parlor, where the young 
men soon discovered that their stay had been longer than fashion de- 
manded, and the party separated for the day. Daily calls were thus 
made by them at the Thornton mansion, and the week fairly slipped 
away before they were aware of it, and that too, without either of them 
being able to boast that they had made much satisfactory progress over 
the other in the art of love-making so far as it concerned the apparently 
invincible armor surrounding the heart of Elsie Thornton. 

They were both treated graciously, with extreme politeness and 
gentleness, but there was no more cause for jealousy that either of them 
were able to charge against the other in reviewing their various battles, 
and now the time had arrived when Mr. Fenton’s return was looked for. 
Of course his arrival would make no particular difference in the affairs of 
Charles Gerston, for he knew but very little about him, and doubtless 
cared a great deal less. But to Irene and Chris there seemed to be a 
great deal at stake, and they could not avoid talking about Mr. Fenton 
whenever they happened to be out of hearing of the others. 

However, there was no indication of anxiety or dread apparent in 
the manner of sweet, charming Elsie as the time of his arrival drew near 
at hand. If any difference her light step became more elastic, her happy 
spirits more bouyant, her bright eyes still brighter, and her striking 
beauty more dazzling. She felt that she would soon be clasped heart to 
heart in the arms of the one being in the world besides mother and father 
whom she had almost learned to worship. To herself she was almost 
inclined to ridicule the idea that he would not be able to brush away 
like cobwebs the net work which Irene had so deftly wove around and 
about the purity of his character, and thus allow it to shine forth to the 
utter confusion and destruction of Irene’s wily machinations. Elsie had 
no fears upon this point, and therefore was not at all disturbed by them, 
as she contemplated almost rapturously his approaching return. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


213 


The last day of the week came, the evening was almost drawing to a 
close, and the sound of the stage-horn from the top of the distant hill 
announced that the coach would soon be rolling down in the principal 
streets of Melton. At length it arrived, and was followed by the usual 
crowd of villagers to the postoffice door. But there were no passengers 
on the coach that evening, and when Judge Thornton returned from the 
village with his usual bundle of mail and had joined his family at the tea- 
table, where were also seated Chris and Charles, and had announced as a 
matter of news that he had expected Mr. Fenton to join them that even- 
ing, but that he had failed to arrive, he was somewhat struck with the 
solemnity cf the scene, and was further apparently surprised at the re- 
mark of Charles, who said: 

“There, I have won again; that makes the third time I have beat 
you all at guessing this evening. I said he was in no hurry because you 
were too anxious to have him come. It’s always that way with me,” 
and he laughed good-humoredly, at the sad countenances around him, 
little thinking how sore was the heart of one whom he would have given 
his ears to please just at that time. 

“Why then,” said the Judge “it seems that somebody else was 
looking tor my young partner, too. I wonder what interest or claim 
you have got on him.” 

And the old gentleman glanced slyly around the table as if expect- 
ing some merry reproof from one of his lovely daughters at his audacity 
in claiming such a monoply of interest in the young Congressman. 

But if such were his expectations he was doomed to speedy dis- 
appointment, for nothing came in the shape of a rejoinder from any 
member of the little company, all of whom seemed more or less pre- 
occupied with their own thoughts to such an extent that the Judge at 
length continued: 

“Oh, well, I dare say he came as far as Nashville, and concluded to 
stop there until Monday, doubtless expecting to find some of our family 
visiting there as usual.” 

This remark concluded all reference to Mr. Fenton at that time but 
its effect upon Elsie was not lost upon the keen observation of Irene, 
and though other subjects were discussed and sallies exchanged with a 
keen zest, she did not fail to note that the look of sore disappointment 
quickly vanished from Elsie’s bright eyes, and she was once again the 
merry, happy maiden of an hour or so before. 


214 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


Judge Thornton sustained his reputation as a logical reasoner upon 
this occassion, for when the coach rolled into town on Monday evening it 
soon became noised over the village that Mr. Fenton had returned from 
his visit to Washington, and ere long he might have been seen enter- 
taining quite a little congregation of callers at his office, all proud to 
take him by the hand and listen to the stray items of news which he had 
stored up for their benefit at the nation’s capitol. 

When he first arrived and exchanged salutations with his old part- 
ner Judge Thorntcm, he inquired concerning the health of his family 
and the whereabouts of his daughters. The judge informed him that 
they were at home, snd would be pleased to meet him at the tea-table. 
But Fenton declined this kind invitation, saying that he should have 
first to rid himself of the dust of travel, and would endeavor to make 
them a call later in the evening. 

This delay in Fenton’s arrival at home had not been of his own 
seeking. Indeed he had used all possible diligence in concluding busi- 
ness matters at Washington, and began to sorely chafe at the little ob- 
stacles which would come up, one after another, to prevent a speedy 
departure. While the question of such great moment to his future 
peace and happiness was at stake, it was a sheer impossibility for him 
to give that patient attention to business matters, which had formerly 
characterized all his transactions. However, as the distance became 
rapidly lessened between himself and Melton, his patience began pro- 
portionately to curb itself, and he at last allowed himself to hope that 
his desires would ere long be realized by an assurance of the greatest 
earthly happiness that can come to a noble and true man — the avowed 
love of a pure and lovely maiden. 

As the darkness of nightfall fell upon the valley in which Melton 
nestled, we find Fenton entering the great gate and walking slowly and 
thoughtfully up the driveway leading to the Thornton mansion. Surely 
nothing ever required more of the elements of a true hero than it did 
for Fenton to be enabled to restrain his impetuosity and calm his doubts 
and fears at the present moment. He was asking himself over and over 
again what kind of a reception would be given him by Elsie. He believed 
that by one single grasp of her hand, or one glance of her eye, he would 
be enabled to read her accceptance or his sentence. And yet there was a 
harrowing possibility that her feelings toward him had undergone np 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


215 


change whatever, in which case he believed all hopes of winning her love 
might as well be given over for good, as she had certainly sufficient op- 
portunity to make a secret and thorough examination of her own heart. 

Striving his utmost to banish all such possibilities, he arrived at the 
door, and on being admitted was given a cordial welcome by Judge 
Thornton and his amiable wife, and was ushered into the brightly lit 
parlor. After a few moment’s conversation, both Irene and Elsie made 
their appearance, and, as far as out ward observation went, their greetings 
differed very little from what it would have been upon any other ordinary 
occasion. In fact, it was perfectly clear they did not wish their words ^ 
or manner of welcome to show any unusual degree of cordiality or hos- 
pitality, though it seemed plain to Fenton that Elsie’s eyes somehow 
belied her actions and words. He interpreted her welcome to mean that 
she was acting under considerable restraint from some cause, which he at 
once attributed to Irene’s presence, and accordingly he felt perfectly as- 
sured for the time being that all would yet be well, 

> A few moments later Mr. Charles Gerston was announced, and he at 
once proceeded to apologize for the absence of Chris by saying that he 
was unavoidably detained upon some business matters with his father. 
Fenton and Gerston were formally introduced, and an hour or two of 
lively conversation followed, after which the judge and his wife retired 
and the young party of four were left to themselves. 

Apparently without any particular object in view, and the evening 
being exceedingly mild and pleasant, Irene proposed a short moonlight 
walk, and claimed Charles as her escort, although it may be well guessed 
much to the discomforture of the latter. 

This gave to Fenton and Elsie the opportunity for which both had 
been seeking to unburden their minds to each other, and when the 
couples became sufficiently separated to render conversation inaudible 
between them, Fenton resolved that he would lose no time in arriving 
at the true situation of affairs. 

There was also a sympathetic feeling in the bracing yet balmy 
southern breezes of the evening which seemed to inspire into the breast 
of Fenton a love more tender and sentimental than he had as yet felt 
for the object of his heart’s deepest affection, now so tranquilly and 
peacefully walking by his side. Somehow he felt confident ' that he had 
pursued the wisest course in patiently waiting until the present moment 


2i6 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


for her expressioas of confidence and love. He felt that she was dearer 
to him than ever before, and believed that he held a high place in her 
affections, and that her confidence in him was full and complete. 

They talked for awhile of matters which had delayed him at the 
capital, that prevented him from arriving on the Saturday before, 
and Elsie, though saying nothing of her anxiety for his speedy 
arrival, gayly imparted to him information concerning the agreeable 
week they had just passed, while endeavoring to relieve the monotony of 
Melton life for their old schoolmate and his friend, Chris and Charles. 

At last Fenton could restrain himself no longer from referring to 
the matter nearest to his heart, and said, as gently as he could under 
the circumstances: 

“I hope 'you will pardon me, Elsie, if I remind you of a conversation 
between us and an agreement made on the night following my election. 
You remember the time do you not?” 

This speech sobered Elsie instantly, and her face at once assumed a 
grave expression, which Fenton rightly interpreted, as he watched her 
closely in the moonlight, to mean that she was somewhat frightened as 
she knew the time for avowal had come. For two or three moments she 
remained silent, and then answered in a low, strange tone: 

“Yes, I remember.” 

“And you remember, if I am correct,” he continued, “that you 
promised when you had fully made up your mind as to your true feelings 
toward me that you would give me your answer at once?” 

“Yes,” she answered more calmly than before. 

“Then you do not think me presuming too much to ask you now as 
to the result of your reflections upon the subject since that time?” he 
inquired in an eager tone. 

“I think I have known the true state of my feelings toward you for 
many weeks,” Elsie at length said, “and I see no reason why I should 
not have told you the truth long before this, but then you gave me no 
opportunity.” 

Fenton’s eager eyes were almost devouring her features now, as he 
imagined a smile was playing upon her lips when she ceased speaking and 
his heart gave a bound. 

“Oh, tell me quick, Elsie,” said he as he seized her hand with more 
excitement than he had ever shown in her presence before. “Do you 
then really love me?” 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


217 


“Wait a minute, Mr. Fenton,” she answered, quietly releasing her 
hand from his grasp, “you hardly seem to have understoodme. Let me 
explain.” 

“Pardon my haste,” said Fenton, “but you do not, you cannot know 
how eager I have been to know the truth.” 

“Then why have yon waited so long?” And Fenton could not help 
noting the strange tone of her words, as if they contained the warning of 
a deeper meaning yet to be unfolded. 

“Why,” he answered in a somewhat surprised manner, “I thought you 
were aware that business of great importance kept me away from you so 
long. Did you not know this?” 

“Certainly, I knew that you were called to Washington on urgent 
business. But pardon me for asking you why so much of your time was 
spent in New York.” 

“Why, that was in consequence of — but as if suddenly remember- 
ing something else which he had forgotten for the moment, he hesitated, 
and then for a moment or two seemed lost in thought. 

Elsie had really never doubted Fenton’s motives up to this moment, 
for she was simply endeavoring to carry out to the letter her verbal 
promise to Irene, but as she noted his hesitation a great fear rushed up- 
on her senses, completely bewildering her for the moment, and as he re- 
lapsed into silence it was with the greatest difficulty that she managed to 
gasp: 

“In consequence of what, Mr. Fenton?” 

“I should prefer that you would not press this queston just at 
present,” he at length answered quietly. “There are seasons why I can- 
not answer this now.” 

“And there are reasons why I must have an answer, and now,” 
said Elsie, as a look of mingled misery and determination spread over 
her features. “Surely you should be able to defend yourself against 
malicious falsehoods.” 

“What on earth do you mean, Elsie?” said Fenton, for the first 
time realizing that the mysterious manner of the maiden had a far 
deeper significance than he hitherto thought possible, “Has anyone 
been issuing malicious falsehoods against me?” 

“That is the question I would like for you to answer,” replied 
Elsie gravely. 


218 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


“And there is some mystery here which I am utterly unable to under- 
stand? What possible connection has the business which called me to 
New York with the question*as to whether you have conferred upon me 
the boon of your love?” 

“Mr. Fenton,” said Elsie, with a forced calmness, “it is impossible 
for me to explain why I have asked this question of you, but believe me 
when I say that, since you refuse to answer it, there is nothing left for 
me to do but to return to the house and wish you good evening.” 

And so saying she turned sadly and wearily as if to retrace her steps. 
But Fenton had no thought of allowing a coldness to arise between them 
without making an effort to prevent it, and he seized her hand almost 
savagely as he said: 

“Oh, Elsie, what are you doing? You must not leave me so. I de- 
mand to know the cause of your action.” 

“You have no right to demand,” she answered hurriedly, “and there- 
for I refuse to comply. Let go of my hand, Mr. Fenton.” 

He dropped her hand instantly. It was his turn now to be 
bewildered. Elsie started toward the house and Fenton walked de- 
jectedly by her side. When they reached the door of her father’s 
residence it became clear to Fenton that her mind was thoroughly made 
up, and that she was determined to let him go his own way. He would 
not accept his fate without one more desperate appeal. He would try to 
explain everything clearly to her, and trust in her former good nature to 
give him another opportunity to win her love. 

“Elsie,” he said, and there seemed to be a world of mingled love 
and regret in his tone, ‘I beg of you to listen to me for a few moments.” 

“It would be useless for me to do so. Good night.” 

So saying, she left him outside the door, and quickly vanished up 
the stairway to her own room. Fenton was thoroughly dumfounded. 
When he had sufficiently recovered from his surprise to allow himself to 
reason from cause to effect, he endeavored to find some clew by which he 
could account for her mysterious treatment. It was totally unlike any- 
thing he could have expected from her. He had been partially prepared 
for the information from her own lips that she could not learn to love 
him. He knew that she was young, and possibily had not become 
fully settled in her own mind as to her choice of a husband. But he 
gpuld scarcely realize the unfriendly parting which had just taken place. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


219 


There was a strange mystery connected with it all, and Fenton knew 
not which way to turn that he might begin to unravel it. Nor could he 
even hope that a happy solution was ever to come. If she had refused to 
listen to him once, would she not continue to do so? 

The returning footsteps*of Irene and Charles caused Fentoi^ to 
awake from the reverie into which he had fallen, and not desiring to 
meet them or any one else just' at that time he turned down an opposite 
pathway from the one in which they were approaching, and soon came 
to the roadway leading out of the grounds. He would return to his own 
lodgings, and think the whole matter over calmly. When he arrived 
there he sat down in an arm chair before the fire, and pondered long and 
deeply over the conversation which had occured between Elsie and 
himself. 

It must be remembered that Fenton was not aware of Irene’s visit 
in New York. During the whole of the evening’s conversation not a 
word had been spoken concerning it in the presence of Fenton. This was 
doubtless owing to an understanding between Irene and Elsie. True, he 
knew that Charles Gerston hailed from that place, but the latter knew 
nothing of the young congressman’s visit to bis mothers’ house on the 
night of the reception, and it was possible that Fenton did not remember 
the name of the lady of the house to which he had 'made the visit so 
hurriedly and during so much excitement. 

But nevertheless Elsie knew of his visit to New York, and Fenton 
finally came to the conclusion that this information must have been im- 
parted to her by Charles. If so, how much did he probably know con- 
cerning the object of his visit? And even should behave known all 
about his object, which was hardly probably, what was there connected 
with it that should cause Elsie to turn away from him because of his de- 
sire to say nothing about it at the present time. Fenton believed it 
possible that his desire to keep the matter a secret had been the main 
cause of Elsie’s action, but why it should have been so he could not \.a- 
derstand. It was certainly not jealously. It must be because she had 
lost faith in his honor as a true gentleman, though he assured himself 
that he had not been guilty of one act or word that would merit such a 
bitter condemnation. 

Was it possible, after all these months of anxiety lest Elsie should 
withhold from him the love which he craved, that she was not fitted by 
nature to fill the honored station in his heart which he had yielded to her? 


220 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


Was she narrow minded, selfish and prejudicial, when he had so fondly 
believed her to be a type of true womanhood and the very embodiment 
of charity? Fenton could not bring himself to realize that such was her 
true nature, and yet he could not fathom her motives on any other theory. 

Jfle attributed her questions to curiosity pure and simple, and second 
to a belief formed in her mind by something she had heard that he had 
been guilty of misdeeds which he was now ashamed to acknowledge, and 
for this she had brought herself to despise him. He knew that an er- 
roneous conclusion had been reached by Elsie, but whether she had 
made use of this method to inform him that she had no affection to give 
him, or that she was really disappointed to find him so unworthy of her 
love, he could not decide. In any event however, not even a glimmer 
of hope remained for poor Fenton. His good ship, which had been 
sailing into port with such broad, expansive wings, had foundered, and 
nothing but the hopeless wreck of a love erstwhile so staunch and true 
was left, rapidly beating itself out upon the jagged rocks of despair. 

This was the first real grief which had come upon Fenton since he 
had arrived at maturity, and the question now was whether he was able 
to bear it like a man. For a while he was about to yield himself up to 
the temptation to accept his miserable fate with the poorest possible 
grace, resign all the allurements which were held out to him in the po- 
litical world, say farewell to the friends with which he had surrounded 
himself during the last few years, a lasting goodbye to all visions of 
future happiness, and take his departure into more miserable climes, he 
neither knew nor cared where. So keen was his mental anguish that, 
for a time, any deviation from the upright path which he had so steadily 
trodden, or banishment from all thought or sight of his present surround- 
ings would have been gladly welcomed. 

But after the first storm of agony was over there at last came a 
peaceful calm. Reason mice more assumed its sway over the noble 
mind and heart which God had created, and once again Robert Fenton 
congressman-elect, found himself ready to report for duty. Duty was 
the power which now drove him forward over the pathway where love 
had formerly beckoned him so fondly. Yes, he would acknowledge and 
serve that power to the best of his ability, until he had fully and faith- 
fully discharged the great public trust committed to his keeping, and 
then — alas, he knew not what then, 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


221 


On the morning following this night of agony Fenton endeavored to 
to meet his fellew townsmen with a pleasing countenance and his ever- 
genial courtesy. And during the day he even held long confabs with 
Judge Thornton concerning the business affairs of the firm and various 
matters connected with his new career in the political world. There 
was one thing which Fenton did not fail to notice in connection with 
the events of the previous night, that no matter what the thoughts of 
Elsie herself were towards him, nothing in the manner of the judge gave 
indication that he knew aught concerning them. His manner towards Fen- 
ton was just as cordial, and his interest in him was even more solicitous 
than ever before. It was evident to Fenton that Judge .Thornton 
knew nothing whatever concerning the affair, and he was resolved that 
he would be the last person to inform him. He did mention to him 
however, that on the following day he should have some business to 
transact necessitating a trip up the river, and that he should make 
it convenient to call on their mutual friends, Mr. White and his 
family. j 

This mention of Mr. White brought to the judge’s mind the rec- 
ollection of meeting Mr, Hexam at the river landing a few weeks pre- 
vious, and he imparted the incident to Fenton: As the latter had not 
heard of Mr. Hexam’s return previously he was greatly surprised, and 
since his visit to Mr. White was solely in connection with Flora’s disap- 
pearance, he now became very anxious to reach there as soon as possible, 
and be the means of bringing about a reunion between father and 
daughter. 


222 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER XIX 

“It is true, Irene; oh, it is all too true,” sobbed Elsie Thornton, as 
her sister, entered the room where the well-nigh heart-broken girl had 
sought refuge from Fenton’s appeal to give heed to his explanation nar- 
rated in the last chapter. 

“What is true, sister?” inquired Irene in a tone of innocent surprise, 
pretending as if for the moment she had entirely forgotten the compact 
which had been made before Fenton’s arrival. 

Irene was thoroughly well aware of the cause of her sister’s grief. 
It was the wished-for outcome of a plan whose every detail she had 
patiently revolved in her mind, and a quick, bright gleam of triumph 
sparkled in her bright eyes, but which was most skillfully veiled beneath 
long, drooping lashes as she met the tearful gaze of Elsie. 

“All that you told me of the dreadful story of his visit to New York. 
I could not believe it at first, and I only thought you were trying to 
prejudice me against him, and that he could so easily explain it all away.” 

“And did he give you no explanation whatever?” queried Irene. 

“He said that he did not wish to do so at present.” 

“And yet he had the brazen impudence to renew his offer, I suppose.” 

“Yes, that is, he wanted to know if my decision was in his favor, 
but I refused to talk with him after he declined to give any explanation 
about himself.” 

“You are a good, sensible girl, Elsie, and you have done exactly 
right, for he is certainly not a true gentleman. You remember that I 
warned you and papa against him when he first came to Melton and you 
now see that I had good reasons for doing so. Look at the difference 
between him and Chris Engle. Chris was born and bred a gentleman, and 
is the very soul of honor. More than that, he is devotedly attached to 
you. I only wish that I could attract him as easily as you have done.” 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


2^3 


“Why, Irene, how you talk. Chris doesn’t know his own mind yet, 
and I only care for him as a playmate. I am truly sorry if he fancies 
that he is in love with me, for I do not think that I shall ever marry any 
one. I am deeply disapointcd in Mr. Fenton. I do not think that I 
shall ever be happy again.” 

“Fiddlesticks and nonsense!” exclaimed Irene rather impatiently.” 
“That is the result of wasting your affection upon an unprincipled and 
worthless man. But you will soon get over all such nonsense as that, 
and I would advise you in the meantime to give Chris a little more en- 
couragement than you have done. Otherwise you may throw away a 
splendid opportunity for a lady to have.” 

But Elsie was too much overcome with the greatest grief her hitherto 
pleasant young life had ever known to give earnest heed to her sister’s 
wily advice, and had relapsed into silence. And Irene perceiving that 
she was about to make a serious mistake in urging Chris’ claims too 
strongly at the present time, was obliged to curb her impatience until 
Elsie had reached a more composed frame of mind, and was able to look 
at the matter from a less sentimental point of view. She did not doubt 
now but that she would ultimately be successful in her endeavor to win 
Elsie over to her way of thinking. Now that she had succeeded in 
getting Fenton out of the way, in her opinion it was only a question of 
a short time when the wound which Elsie’s sensibilities had received 
would be healed, and then sentimentalism would give way to Irene’s 
worldly view of the matrimonial question. Till then she would have to 
be patient. That was all. 

But this chapter should deal rather with the events concerning the 
visit which had been contemplated by Fenton to Mr. White’s mountain 
home. The surmise of Irene concerning Fenton’s being out of the way 
was perfectly correct. He had already determined to put himself as 
much out of the way of that young lady and her lovely sister as if he had 
actually carried his half-formed resolution of a few hours before into ef- 
fect, and fled from duty, home and friends, and sought refuge in some 
far-away and unknown land. And yet he was only a few hundred yards 
from his heart’s dearest treasure, and doubtless he would have foregone 
many chances of future happiness if he could only have had the sweet 
pleasure of listening to one loving word from her. 

It seemed as though Heaven had chosen to dash the sweet cup of 
happiness from his lips just as he was about to quaff its glorious nectar. 


224 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


and, commanding him in a military manner to “about face,” had pointed 
out in a stern, forbidding index the opposite pathway of duty, leaving 
him no choice but to obey or exhibit the white feather of a deserter, 
“For man moulded after the character of Fenton to hear the voice of 
duty was to obey,and thus we see him sadly yet resolutely preparing to turn 
his back upon the happiness he had so longed for and set out to do what 
he could toward making others happy. 

Queerly enough that, being unloved, he now found it a part of his 
duty to engage in a labor of love. And he clearly foiesaw that the task 
he had set for himself would not be very easy of accomplishment. It 
has ever been considered a thankless undertaking to soften the adaman- 
tine hearts of parents or guardians, whose grief has been occasioned by 
the misdeeds of an erring daughter. A son, the budding promise of the 
household, may be pardoned for a plentiful scattering of wild oats, and 
a good, round lecture suffices to cover a very large amount of wrong-do- 
ing. But not so with the daughter. One single misstep, and the gulf 
between parent and daughter often becomes impassible. 

But another phase of this grave question had been presented to 
Fenton. It was not a point with him as to whether the arms of the 
uncle and aunt, and doubtless the father, too, would be Stretehed forth 
to receive back the runaway girl. That had already been done to a cer- 
tain extent, and he did not fear that he would have to waste any persua- 
sive powers to complete that particular part of his work. The question 
with him was, could there be any plan invented by which pretty Flora 
might be induced to return to her mountain home. 

He had pleaded most eloquently with her to return, but to no avail. 
All that he had been able to accomplish was the permission to return to 
her childhood home bearing the intelligence that she was alive and well, 
and that her present wants were fully provided for, but she did not de- 
sire, and so far as she was able to prevent it, never intended to look 
upon the faces in her former home again. 

If she had ever loved them, or even thought kindly toward them 
that love and all sueh kindly feelings were dead forever. They had al- 
lowed her to grow up in complete ignorance of the world’s requirements; 
and the lesson when at last it had been forced upon her was indeed a 
bitter experience, and her heart had hardened against her uncle and 
aunt for their cruel neglect. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


225 


The story of poor Flora’s desertion, her trials and finally her dis- 
covery by Mr, Fenton and Tom Barry might prove a long and rather un- 
interesting one, and therefore it. is perhaps best to recount it as briefly 
as possible. 

The seeming length of that dreary night during which ‘poor Flora 
found herself deserted and alone in a great city can only be appreciated 
by those who have passed through a similar experience. Unconscibus 
sleep did not even solace or befriend her, for she could not forbear 
watching through the long, dark hpurs for the return of her young hus- 
band and wishing for the brightness of day that she might inaugurate 
a search for him. 

When daylight finally appeared she prepared herself to make an ef- 
fort to discover his whereabouts, though she felt exceedingly low-spirited 
when she remembered that she did not know whether to turn to the 
right or left, to go up the street or down, and even too inexperienced to 
think of whom she might ask for the least information. However, she 
ventured forth from the outer door of the room, the four walls of which 
circumscribed her chief knowledge of the metropolis, and soon stood 
upon the sidewalk, undecided which way she shonld turn. 

A great number of people were hurrying along the street, most of 
whom were destined for the scene of their daily labors, and many carry- 
ing their lunch baskets or rolls. Some of these stared curiously at Flora 
as they passed her, doubtless attracted both by her fresh young beauty 
and the helpless look of misery upon her face. No doubt there were 
many of the pas.sers-by, could they have but fathomed her forlorn situ- 
ation, who would have gladly pointed out the right course to pursue in 
the prosecution of her search, but for some time it did not occur to the 
bewildered girl that she might safely trust these hard-looking men and 
women. 

But if the attempt to decide upon some plan of action was confusing, 
the bold leers of some of the crowd were even more so, and Flora felt 
that she could not endure such inaction much longer. A man, poorly 
dressed, evidently a laborer, but with a kindly look upon his face, passed 
near her, and almost involuntarily Flora stepped forward and touched 
his arm. He halted and looked at her, but at first she was too frightened 
to speak. 

“What’ll ye have, miss?” he inquired in a rather gruff tone, though 
intended to be pleasant* 


226 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


“I want to find Stephen — Stephan Hobart,” faltered Flora. 

“And who might ye be afther calling Stephen? Sure, an’ is he a 
bye or a mon, miss?” 

“He'.is my husband,” she expiained, seeming to expect that the man 
would probably be able to tell her where he was at once. 

“I know nothin’ at all ov him, mum. When did he lave you?” 

* “Last night.” 

“Wot made him go away, thin?” 

Flora had not intended to explain all the circumstances concerning 
‘Stephen’s departure, and her hesitation as to what would be best for her 
to say was quickly noticed by the man, 

“Sure, an’ was it a quarrel ye had widhim?” he asked, with a smile, 
as though he was certain he had struck a keynote. 

“No, no,” answered Flora hastily. “But he seemed very much ex- 
cited about something when he left.” 

“Well, miss,” said the man, who had been looking first up and down 
the street, “I’ll tell ye wot fer to do, as I heven’t toime to talk wid ye 
any longer. Go over and talk to that perleeceman ye see down the 
street yonder. He’ll take ye to the station, where ye can describe yer 
mon, and mebbe they’ll look afther him at wance. Good mornin’, miss.” 

Flora thanked him for his information, and bade him good morning. 
She then walked rapidly in the direction of the officer, with a feeling of 
great relief that she would now be enabled to take some steps toward a 
search. 

When she told the police officer that she wanted to go to the station 
and have a search begun for her husband he directed her as to the route 
she should take, and Flora soon succeeded in finding the place. She was 
considerably frightened as she walked into the gloomy looking building, 
but she managed to reach the sergeant’s desk and explained her errand. 

It was a common experience for the sergeant to listen to inquiries 
concerning missing friends, and he did not deem it necessary to go into 
all the details concerning Stephen Hobart’s career, not even making any 
notes of what Flora had told him. He came to the conclusion that it 
was a case of dissipation upon Stephen’s part, and that he would doubt- 
less return of his own account within a reasonable time. He told Flora 
that he would have inquiries made, and then turned to his other duties. 
Had he but taken sufficient interest to muke a record of the case, and 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


227 


learned all the particulars concerning Stephen and Flora, much expense 
and valuable time might have been saved to Fenton and Tom Barry, and 
many of the unfortunate circumstances in connection therewith and sub- 
sequent thereto would never have occured. 

Flora returned to her lodgings, but not with the best of spirits. 
She hoped Stephen would be found immediately, but what should she do 
if he was not? Their room rent was due, and she had no money. 
Neither had she sufficient food to last through another day. She had 
scarcely reached her room before a knock at the door announced the 
landlady, who desired to know when her rent was to be paid. Flora ex- 
plained that her husband was missing, and that she had no means of her 
own. 

The landlady complained that she had been expecting something of 
the kind, and told the poor girl that she would have to give up the room. 
She said she was a poor, unfortunate woman herself, and depended upon 
the rent for her living, and therefore could not afford to keep her there 
any longer. 

Flora scarcely knew what to say in reply. She 'know not which 
way to turn, but she soon decided to leave the house and go somewhere 
in search of employment. She told the landlady that she could have 
the room at once, and in a few moments more she had made a bundle 
of her few belongings and again made her appearance upon the crowded 
street. 

In an aimless, dazed sort of way she wandered on and on, once in a 
while turning into another street, neither heeding her course or desiring 
to stop. All day long she kept on moving, little heeding the dangers 
with which nightfall threatened her, alone and unprotected. She seemed 
to. have no idea what was to become of her. Many times during the day 
she thought she recognized Stephen, and hastened joyfully forward, but a 
closer examination would undeceive her and then her spirits would droop 
correspondingly. 

Nature could not keep up this restless pace forever, and as the 
darkness came stealing slowly on. Flora, exhausted, feverish and hungry 
began to realize that she must seek shelter somewhere. She began to 
examine the houses more closely, though for a long time she saw none 
that seemed to invite her to enter. She wondered to herself whether all 
the people in New York were like the landlady who had turned her put 


228 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


of doors. If so, what was to become of her when her tired limbs refused 
to carry her further? 

Flora still possessed a somewhat vague idea that Stephen had not 
really deserted her. She was not quick to believe him so wholly desti- 
tute of principle. Perhaps he had met with an accident, or had been 
foully dealt with. She had heard of such things. But nevertheless she 
was now thoroughly convinced of the utter futility of any search she 
might make to find him. Just as well might a ship out of its reckoning 
seek for a certain harbor. 

A sign over the doorway of a neat-looking house caused Flora at 
last to stop. In bold letters it proclaimed the house to be “A Home 
for the Friendless.” Surely that meant her. And yet, .she qestioned 
herself, might she not be deceived as to its real character? However, 
she finally determined to apply for admittance, resolving that if she 
found all was not as it should be that she would walk out again. 

But when the matron, who opened the door in answer to her ring 
gave her such a pleasant, motherly greeting and bade her kindly welcome 
all fears vanished, and soon the kind lady had gained the story of the 
poor young girl’s misfortune, and comforted .her with the assurance that 
she would find a pleasant home there until such time as she would have 
opportunity to get a situation with some respectable family at cooking 
or housework. To a heart burdened as was Floar’s this was solace in- 
deed* and she experienced a feeling of happiness and rest that she had not 
known for many a day. 

But by the following morning it was ascertained that the strain upon 
Flora’s system, together with such unusal mental excitement, had proven 
more than she was able to stand, A serious illness had set in and a high 
fever proclaimed its sway. The physican said it would have to run its 
course, and the result was that for two or three weeks Flora was unable 
to leave her bed. Good motherly nursing, however, brought her success- 
fuly through the danger, and at the end of a month she was able to walk 
a little distance from the house. In a short time she had become some- 
what familiar with the locality surrounding the home. 

One day the good matron, who was not fediug as well as usual sub- 
mitted to Flora’s going out for a short walk alone, after instructing her 
to be careful about the direction she took and not to stay long. Flora 
promised to be careful and set out with a considerable degree of conft* 


I 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. ✓ 


229 


dence in herself. She had walked for some distance, and finally, feel- 
ing that she had gone as far as she dared to venture alone, had turned 
and was about to retrace her steps. She had become useed to the sight of 
strange faces and had ceased to Iregard them closely as she had at first 
done, in the hope that she might see one familiar to her. But suddenly 
some one stopped directly in front of her, and on looking up fearfully, 
as if feeling that some new danger threatened her, she recognized her 
childhood friend, Mr. Robert Fenton. 

At first a thrill of joy almost overwhelmed poor Flora, at sight of 
one toward whom she had always entertained a most grateful feeling, 
and yet the very next moment she was covered with confusion, as she 
thought of her conduct in leaving her relatives in the manner she did. 

But she put her hand shyly into Robert’s outstretched palm, and 
was vastly relieved when he informed her that he was acquainted with 
the fact that she had run away from home, and that he and Tom Barry 
had been looking everywhere for her. He told her that her uncle and 
aunt were greatly distressed concerning her disappearnce, and had sent 
them to search for her, how they had put detectives on her track, and 
how they themselves had paced the streets day after day in the hope of 
seeing her face. 

Fenton was thoroughly astonished and indignant when he learned of 
the manner in which Stephen, his cousin, had acted toward Flora, and de- 
termined that he would seek out the young man and compel him to make 
restitution for the wrong he had done, if it should be proven that Stephen 
had not already met with harm himself, as Flora feared. He ac- 
companied Flora back to the home, where she introduced him to the 
matron as the friend of her childhood. He informed the good woman 
that he had been instructed to furnish any means necessary to settle the 
indebtedness incurred by Flora, and endeavored to pursuade the girl to 
accompany Tom Barry and himself back to her uncle’s. 

But Flora declined to return to her uncle’s house, and Fenton un- 
derstood her reasons so well that he soon ceased to urge her to return. 
She expected to earn her own living she said, and. thought she would re- 
main where she was for the present. 

Finally Fenton took leave of Flora and the matron, but instructed 
her where to address him in case she concluded to return home or wished 
to see him for any reason whatever. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


23d 


It should be remembered in passing that it was during this meeting 
between Flora and Fenton when the latter was recognized by Chris 
Engle, and the fear of an introduction caused Flora to look confused and 
anxious to hurry away. This anxiety upon her part was accountable for 
the mistake made by Chris, and thus brought many days of trouble in 
Fenton’s career. Truly, who is it can tell what even a slender suspician 
may dire disaster bring. 

The search for Flora Ilexam was ended, so the police detectives 
were notified; the lost girl had been found, and Tom Barry returned 
home to tell her relatives all that had been ascertained about her. But 
Robert still lingered in that city, he scarcely knew why, uneasy 
half believing that he was yet to know something more important con- 
cerning Flora’s welfare, though breathing not a word of his doubts and 
fears to Tom Barry, He had told the latter of his intention to go im- 
mediately to Washington to finish up his business there, and from thence 
would go direct to Melton, but he did not go. And yet there seemed no 
tangible reason for his delay in New York. 

At last he was about to take his departure, and about ten o’clock 
one evening had just entered the depot, valise in hand, when a nonuni- 
formed detective stepped up to him and touched his arm. Fenton 
turned his head, and at once recognized one of the men who had been 
employed in the search for Flora. Pointing to an advertisement in an 
evening paper, the officer said: 

“Sir, this must refer to the same girl that you notified us had been 
lost and found. I did not understand it, and thought I had better call 
the matter to your attention.” 

Fenton took the paper and read the advertisement of Mrs. Gerston, ' 
calling the attention of Flora Hexam’s friends to her illness, and giving 
her own address. He was greatly alarmed, and told the officer that he 
would go and see the girl at once, as she was evidently the same one he 
had been searching for. Fenton retraced his steps to the hotel, and 
soon after he set out to find the address which had been given. Arriv- 
ing at Mrs. Gerston’s, he found the ball in progress, but at once inquired 
for the sick girl. -Fenton soon procured a carriage, together with the 
necessary information concerning the whereabouts of a good private in- 
stitution for invalids, and thither Flora was at once conveyed, where ex- 
perienced medical attention and good nursing restored her in a few days 
to her former vigor and glowing health. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


231 


There was evidently more of the true womanly spirit within her 
than he had imagined, and, for her advantages of cultivation, she held 
rigorous ideas of the difference between right and wrong, duty and neg- 
lect. There was a stamp of a true, though injured woman, in her earn- 
est face — so clearly defined, in fact, that Fenton could not help revolving 
in his mind the possibilities which would undoubtedly be hers through 
proper cultivation and refinement. 

If, therefore, he had previonsly been sympathetic in her forlorn and 
helpless condition, he now began to awake to his duty of discovering 
some means by which he might advance her interests not only physically 
but mentally, and perhaps, after all, it were better that she should remain 
in New York, where so many advantages of mental culture were offered 
over those of the country home. He revolved many plans in his mind 
by which to accomplish the new object which he had in view. The 
plainest course seemed to be to place her in a private boarding school, 
knowledge of a most excellent one being already familiar to him, but the 
expense of which he had as yet been unauthorized to incur by Mr. White. 
This course he finally decided to be the wisest, even though to carry it 
out he should have to appeal to his own private purse. Accordingly he 
addressed Flora upon this subject. 

“To secure independence in a great city, as you have already found 
it is often necessary to do hard work. But sometimes this work can be 
reduced to a choice between mental and physical. If you had your 
choice which do you think you should prefer?” 

“I think that I should prefer mental work of some kind,” said 
Flora. 

“I have not much ready money at my command at preseet,” Fen- 
ton continued, “and probably you would not accept it if I had. ^ut if 
I should find the means to place you in a nice school for young ladies, 
there to remain until you felt sufficiently prepared to take up some chos- 
en work of your own, would you accept it?” 

“But, Mr. Fenton, that would be too generous of you. No, I 
could not.” ' 

“Not at all,” he replied. “You misunderstand me: I only agree to 
act as mediator, or to get the money for you.” 

“I might accept it,” said Flora doubtfully, “on one condition— 
that is, after beginning work I might be allowed to return it as soon as 
possible.” 


232 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


“Then I will agree to the condition,” assented Fenton, “and I will 
go at once aiid see if arrangements cannot be made for you to enter 
school without delay. I can introduce you into the school under your 
maiden name, and no one there will know of the circumstances which 
brought you to this city,” 

Flora’s heart was already growing lighter. There was a very large 
rift in the clouded sky which had so shortly seemed to entirely overcast 
her future prospects in life, and all through the tireless efforts of her 
zealous friend. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


233 



I 




CHAPTER XX. 

The senior member of the Hobart family spoke less than ever ort 
the subject of his particular aversion — the White family — in the days 
which followed the visit of Mr. White and Mr. Hexam, Perhaps he 
was not so sure but that his scheme of vengeance might not yet recoil upon 
his own head, and which produced a wiser feeling that the least said the 
sooner mended. He wore the quick, nervous air of one who was await- 
ing unpleasant developments. He seemed to scent danger to his own 
peace of mind in the rising of each succeeding morn’s sun. ' Nor did he 
entirely cast aside those. guilty fears when the last rays of the evening 
twilight were swallowed up by the overshadowing darkness of night. 
The air of that winter season was pleasant and balmy, but it produced 
no quieting effect upon the nerves of Mr. Hobart. Doubtless he com- 
pared his feelings at times with those of his imagination in former times 
when he was seeking for some scheme of vengeance. Then he thought 
he would be a happy man when he had successfully carried out some 
scheme, and had proved to the world that the Whites were no. better 
than he. Now he was not ]quite certain whether it would be wise to 
felicitate himself upon his success. 

One of the greatest causes for his anxiety seemed to center in the 
news, however trifling, of the doings of his neighbor over the river.. 
Every circumstance, important or otherwise, bearing m that direction 
was carefully questioned, diligently viewed from its every side, and furn- 
ished food for lengthy reflections by the old man. This was doubtless 
because this news was an exceedingly scanty nature. Of the movement 
of Mr. White and his friend (for Flora’s father did not make himself 
known to Mr. Hobart) regarding' the disappearance of Flora the old 


234 


A DIXIE gentleman. 


man knew nothing. He did not even know the gentlemen were patiently 
awaiting the investigation being made in New York by Fentoli and Tom 
Barry, and in consequence he dreaded daily the announcement that the 
implication of Stephen in the abduction of Flora had been discovered. 
He was still in ignorance of the true state of affairs when Tom Barry re- 
turned home and reported Flora safe and sound. 

However, the news which Tom Barry brought did not reach the 
ears of old man Hobart, nor was it intended that it should, and it may 
readily be believed that he was in no very enviable frame of mind when 
one evening just after dark footsteps were heard on the walk, and soon 
came a heavy rap at the door. Hobart demanded to know who was 
there, and in the answer recognized the voice of John White. He was 
pale and excited as he tremblingly opened the door for his neighbor to 
enter, and seemed hardly able to restrain himself when Mr. White, fol- 
lowed by Mr. Fenton and Mr. Hexam, entered the house. 

The sight of his nephew seemed to restore the self confidence of the 
old man somewhat, and he tendered him his hand in token of welcome. 
His worst fears returned immediately, however, when he observed the 
countenance of Fenton, which was rather stern and fgrbidding, and noted 
that he refused to acknowledge his show of friendship. Hi's nephew 
was the first to speak, and address the old m his usual kindly tone. 

“Uncle Hobart, we are here to talk to you about Stephen. It is 
useless for you to say that you know nothing about this unhappy affair. 
Flora has been found and has confessed every thing, and claims that you 
knew all about the elopement or abduction, and did all that you could 
to aid them. I have persuaded Mr. Hexam here, who is Flora’s father, 
and Mr. White to spare you from violence on account of your extreme 
old age on one condition, and that is that you disclose the whereabouts 
Stephen. Will you tell us where he is?” 

The old man’s fac'e during Fenton’s remarks had been a puzzle to 
watch. His intense excitement was perfectly apparent, and yet he 
succeeded in restraining himself to the last, and when Fenton’s inquiring 
disclosed the fact that Stephen was missing he became almost sullen in 
asking the question: 

“Why didn’t you ask the girl?” 

“Oh, come now. Uncle Hobart,” returned Fenton, “we have no 
time to waste. Flora doesn’t know wliere Stephen is, for he deserted her 


A DtXiE GENTLEMaN. 


^35 


in New York. But I am positive that you know where he can be found 
and it will be better for him to return and Inake provisidn for her sup- 
port, as he has sworn to do.” 

“Well, sir,” replied the old man growing a little boldel*, “hie is the 
one you should look to, not me. Although he is under age, he has de- 
serted my roof, and I have nothing more to do with him of his wife. 
He will have to look out for himself.” 

Fenton felt now that he might have kttowtt his uncle too well to 
expect him to what was right for the sake of principle, and now he de- 
termined upon another plan in order to force him to disclose Stephen’s 
hiding-place. 

“I suppose you have not heard of the serious charge against 
Stephen?” he asked the old man. 

“I tell you I know nothing about him since he left here several 
weeks ago,” he replied, forgetting in his kindling anger and determina- 
tion to be obstinate the story he had told Mr. White and Mr. Hexam. 
“I suppose they charge him with abduiding the girl. But he didn’t do 
it. She went along willingly enough,” and as he said this he shot a 
glance of defiance toward Mr. White, his old enemy. 

“This is not what you told us before,” observed Mr. Hexam as 
calmly as he could. 

But Hobart did not reply. 

The young congressman motioned Mr. Hexam to remain patient. 

“The charge against Stephen is attempted murder. He made an 
attempt to kill his wife before he deserted her.’” 

“I don’t believe it. It is a lie,” almost shouted the old man. 
“Some one is trying to ruin my boy.” This last was more like a wail, 
and his visitors knew that a tender spot in his boastful spirit had at last 
been reached. 

Despite the assertion that he did not believe Stephen guilty o'f the 
charge, he knew that Fenton would not make such an assertion without 
good proof. Yet he was cunning enough to believe that it would not 
serve 'their purpose to do him any violence, and he at once determined 
that he would give them no aid in the search for Stephen. He professed 
that he had not the slightest knowledge of his son’s whereabouts, and 
after threatening and coaxing him until their patience was exhausted the 
party was forced to take their leave, no wiser than they came. 


2^6 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


After the visitors had taken leave of the Ilobarts rather uncere- 
moniously, — for no particular signs of friendliness were observable in 
the matter, the old man not even expressing a desire for his nephew, 
Robert Fenton, to repeat his visit — it was plain to see that Hobart did 
not derive that amount of satisfaction from the news which he had 
learned that he had anticipated in the beginning. In a certain way he 
felt that he had scored a victory over his neighbor, but he seemed to fear 
there were dangerous rocks ahead. Stephen had evidently caught him- 
self in a trap, and this was not the species of game the old man had 
counted upon. He might be made to return and support Flora after 
all, and thus the despised White family would be receiving benefits irom 
his hand instead of his curses. The very thought of this turned his joy 
into lament. 

But leaving the old man to reflect on his own and his son’s mis- 
doings, and to sum up with the conclusion as to how a bad beginning 
had made a worse ending — at least so far as he was concerned — we will 
follow the trio back to Mr. White’s. 

When Fenton had heard of the presence of Flora’s father in that 
section he became fully impressed with the idea that Mr. Hexam needed 
to be roundly rated with an original lecture, and if there was no one else 
to undertake the duty, why what was to hinder him? A beautiful child 
had been neglected for years; she had grown up to innocent young 
womanhood, her father a wilful vagrant in foreign land; her prospects 
in life had been carelessly and ruthlessly blasted, while her unnatural 
father had divested himself of all responsibility. Certainly there could 
be no just defense for such atrocious conduct, and the more Fenton 
thought upon the subject, the more impatient he became to meet with 
Mr. Hexam face to face, and denounce him as he felt that he so richly 
deserved. 

There was a hearty greeting awaiting Fenton when he arrived at 
Mr. White’s residence, and when he was introduced to Mr. Hexam, the 
latter endeavored to impress upon him his appreciation of his generous 
services in behalf of his daughter, though Fenton seemed disposed to 
treat him very cooly. However, this was quickly noticed by Mr. White, 
who at once divined the real cause, and he endeavored to explain the 
exact situation to Fenton. Soon an opportunity occured for a private 
conversation between the two, which Mr. White took advantage of to 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


237 


go over the entire history of his own and his wife’s treatment of Flora, 
not sparing himself in his dereliction of duty, and also explaining the 
separation of Mr. Hexam and his wife, and why the former had remained 
abroad so long, how he had at last returned a wealthy man in search 
of his wife and child, only to learn of the death of one and the un- 
happy fate of the other. At this recital, mixed with such contrite sorrow, 
Fenton could not help feeling deeply moved, while his anger began to 
lessen proportionately. He felt that at all events matters were not nearly 
so bad as they might have been, and that there was still opportunity for 
Mr. Hexam to undo much of the wrong that his unfortunate daughter 
had experienced. 

Mr. Hexam thanked Fenton profusely for the consideration he had 
shown for Flora’s happiness, and hoped for an opportunity in the future 
when he might prove his sincerity. The three men then agreed upon 
the visit to the Hobarts, already related, for the purpose of ascertain- 
ing Stephen’s whereabouts in order that some punishment might be in- 
flicted upon him commensurate with his unprincipled actions. The 
result, as stated, was not satisfactory, and accordingly that part of the 
programme was postponed to wait future developments. 

Mr. Hexam was impatient to leave at once for New York to visit 
his daughter, and invited Fenton and Mr. White to accompany him. 
Fenton consented to go, having nothing to keep him at Melton, and be- 
ing somewhat anxious to avoid the place for the present. Mrs. White’s 
health had been precarious for several days, and Mr. White, though quite 
anxious to see Flora and obtain her forgiveness for his neglect, was not 
willing to leave his wife. 

On the following day, therefore, Fenton and Mr. Hexam, having 
already repaid Tom Barry handsomely for the assistance which he had 
given in the search, set forth upon their journey to Gotham. Two 
days later they rang the door-bell of Flora’s school, and were ushered 
into the elegant parlor, a room that betokened the staidness and reliability 
of the institution itself. While neither of the gentlemen had spoken to 
each other upon that particular branch of the subject, they could not 
avoid wondering somewhat upon the manner of reception which Flora 
would give her father. Fenton knew, what her father did not, that 
while Flora was easily persuaded by those whom she regarded as her 
true friends, yet she was slow to forgive and forget injustice, and this 


238 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


fact caused him to think she might not be inclined to treat her father 
cordially. And Mr. Hexam, conscious of his filial neglect in the past, 
knew that he deserved to be treated coldly. 

When Flora appeared in the doorway she was attired in the uniform 
dress of the school, looking rosy and beautiful as ever. Fenton stepped 
forward, and‘ though not expecting him back so soon, she was glad to see 
him. Then she turned a surprised, inquiring glance upon the elderly 
gentleman by the front window, who seemed to be drinking in her 
features with eager eyes. Of course she did not recognize him, but waited 
for Fenton to speak- 

“Flora, this is your father,” said he 

Before she could grasp his meaning, Mr. Hexam sprang forward and 
embraced and kissed her again and again. 

“My, poor child !” he said brokenly. “You have never known your 
own father. To think how deserted you have been, and I longing for 
your love and happiness. Can you ever forgive me, my dear daughter?” 

Flora acted like one waking from a dream, endeavoring to grasp the 
truth. Could this nice looking old gentleman be her own father, or was 
Mr. Fenton playing a joke upon her? Surely he was too kind to do that. 
At last she found her voice. 

“Why, I thought my father was dead.” 

She had not returned Mr. Hexam’s caresses, and when able to ask 
this question she had stepped slightly away from him. 

“You certainly had cause to think me dead,” he returned “but you 
are my beloved child, for I could have recognized you anywhere by your 
mother’s face.” 

“Then where have you been so many years?” 

He could not help wincing at the blow, for her tone indicated much 
more then the words themselves, though he was half expecting it. 

“Come, sit down,” he said gently. “I have much to explain to you 
and there is much, very much for you to forgive.” 

j He led her to a scat, and recounted to her at length the story of his 
marriage and why he had been a wanderer in foreign lands, together with 
the many and fruitless attempts he had made to communicate with her 
mother and herself by letters. He told her of the false pride which in 
the first year or two after his departure had forbidden him to seek a re- 
conciliation with her mother while yet one might easily have been 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


239 


brought about, and how as time wore on that her silence had angered 
and hardened him still more. Then how the passion had grown upon 
him to become a wealthy man and for years he had buried himself in 
business affairs in the endeavor to forget his maritial troubles. His pur- 
suit of wealth had been immensely successful, but he had never succeeded 
in drowning out the knowledge or consciousness of the duty which he 
owed to his family, and finally a great, overwhelming longing came upon 
him to make complete reparation for his past misconduct. He had 
means enough at his command to carry out any plan in the futherance 
of this object, and then it became to him the only thing worth doing in 
life. Impatient to act, he wound up his business affairs as quickly as 
possible and retraced his steps to America. But alas ! it was beyond all 
earthly power for him to make this reparation complete, for he would 
never again seethe face he had loved so well. He told his daughter 
how the knowledge of her mother’s unhappy death had come upon him 
with a crushing force, and yet he felt that her loss was nothing more 
than a just punishment meted out to him. He would endeavor to bear 
it bravely for his daughter’s sake, and if she could bring herself to for- 
give his cruel neglect of her in the past he would ask no more from her, 
for he felt that he must make atonement to higher than an earthly 
power for shirking the responsibility that he owed to his wife. 

^ Words can scarcely depict the conflicting emotions which sought 
to gain supremacy in the mind of Flora. She listened in. a bewildered 
daze at the eloquent words which poured from the lips of the cultivated 
and refined old gentleman who sat beside her. Often she glanced from 
him to Mr. Fenton with questioning eyes, as much as to say, but for 
Mr. Fenton she could scarcely comprehend nor believe what the gentle- 
man was saying. But those glances seemed certainly but gradually to 
restrain her doubts. If Mr, Fenton did not object, surely the man must 
be saying the truth, y But her father. This was not clear to poor 
Flora’s mind. She realized that he was now pleading for forgiveness, 
and she debated this point ratlier seriously. Not that she felt 
she had anything in particular to forgive in the past, but the act 
implied other obligations on her part. Flora reassured herself that if 
anyone should ask her forgiveness it should be her Aunt Mary or Uncle 
John, and she had already determined that she would not grant such a 
petition. She had absolved herself from obligations to them and re- 


240 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


nounced their authority because she knew. now that they had not per- 
formed their duty toward her as a child and caused her to suffer shame 
and disgrace as a woman. 

Howevei, she had never known a father’s love or authority, and 
was never embittered toward him by neglect, no matter how great it 
may have been. To yield to her father’s entreaties for forgiveness, to 
promise him love and obedience, to acknowledge his right to care for 
herself and her interests, was something so entirely new to her that she 
could not at first adjust herself to these changed conditions. She was 
already becoming happy and contented in the school in which she had 
been placed by her self-constituted protector. But here was Mr. Fen- 
ton giving his silent consent to her father’s appeal. And then how dif- 
ferent was this mail from her uncle and other men she had seen in her 
mountain home. There was no. harshness in his voice, and his manner 
was graceful and easy. Surely he must be a very, very pleasant man, 
and one whom she began unconsciously to feel that she would like to 
know more about. 

All these things passed rapidly through Flora’s mind in a confused 
sort of way, and she soon began to realize that no valid ground existed^ 
for her half-formed objection to her father’s claims. By the time he had 
reproached himself heartily for the past, thus enlisting her sympathy for 
his sufferings, and ended by promising her all the recompense which a 
great love and practically unlimited wealth might be able to procure. 
Flora’s objections were put utterly to rout, a fact which she announced 
by quietly giving herself up to tears and pillowing her curly head upon 
her father’s breast. 

At last the poor unfortunate girl had become aware that she had 
found a safe haven of rest from future trouble, and coming to her so un- 
expectedly it was more than sufficient to overcome a stouter, more inde- 
pendent and experienced nature than hers. Brief as had been her ex- 
perience with the rough world, it had been a bitter one. Only a short 
time since she had almost despaired of ever again looking into the face 
of a true friend. All whom she had met in the streets of that great city 
seemed alike to her. They had smiles and pleasant tones in plenty for 
others, but there seemed to be no one to remember her. « 

But her childhood’s friend had rescued her in her darkest hour — at 
a time when so many poor unfortunates sink down to rise no more. 
Would she ever be able to feel ^nd know just how near she had walked 


A DtXIlE gentleman. 


Mi 


to*the brink of destruction? For never until then could she realize how- 
much she owed to her deliverer. This friend had not only prevented 
her downfall, but had also been the means of providing her with a safe- 
guard against future snares and pitfalls. Something of this great service 
came to Flora then, but it was many months before she was conscious of 
its full value. 

While this interview between Flora and her newly found father was 
in progress, Fenton sat a quiet but interested listener, though with 
thoughts busily occupied, and when he begun to anticipate the happy 
ending of the reunion he asked himself as to what should be the next 
step in Flora’s behalf, for with him it was always one thing to begin an 
undertaking and same thing to carry it through to the end. 

So far he had done all that he could to rectify a great wrong to an 
innocent young girl, in the perpetration of which he could not help feel- 
ing that he was quite a little to blame, though from the sin of omission, 
rather than commission. Yet since the hour when he had found that his 
cousin Stephen was the greatest cause of all her misery, both past and, 
what the future might hold in store for her, Fenton had determined that 
he would never .stop in his efforts until Stephen had been forced to make 
amends in some manner. » 

Now that a portion of his task was completed, what would be the 
proper step to take to complete the remainder? The first thing, clearly, 
was to find Stephen. But at the present time he had not the faintest 
idea as to his whereabouts. There was no clue upon which the detectives 
could work in tracing him out, and from all appearances the chances 
were about equal that he should find him in the city of ’•New York or at 
the other side of the world. It was a matter which depended entirely 
upon Stephen’s fear of pursuit or detection. If the latter had reasoned 
from Flora’s account of her treatment by her uncle’s family, that they 
would not feel sufficient interest in her to come to New York and insti- 
tute a search for her, then it was more than probable that he had never 
left the city himself, c 

With this view of the matter uppermost in his mind, Fenton finally re- 
solved upon a plan to pursue, and as soon as he became aware that Flora 
was willing to acknowledge her father and forgive him the past, he an- 
nounced that pressing business would necessarily cause his absence for 
the remainder of the day, and that he would endeavor to be with them 
again on the day following. 


242 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


Of course both father and daughter regretted this necessity, and 
Mr. Hexam desired to know if he could be of any assistance to him. 
Fenton informed him that he could not at that time, but that he might 
have something of importance to communicate to him the next day, and 
with this he took his departure, after Flora had grasped his hand and 
looked her thankfulness with tear-filled eyes. 

The first business Fenton had in hand was to insert a decoy adver- 
tisement in two of the leading evening papers requesting Stephen Ho- 
bart to send his address to the Hoffman house for infc>rmation of great 
value. This accomplished, he then proceeded to find the detective he 
had formerly employed in the search for Flora. Fenton’s idea was that 
if Stephen was in the city, while he might be not bold enough to appear 
at the hotel in person, yet he would have sufficient curiosity to know 
what the advertisement meant as to lead him to employ a messenger for 
that purpose. The detective was found without difficulty, and in ac- 
cordance with Fenton’s desire posted a thorough watch at the hotel for 
the appearance of Stephen’s expected messenger. 

However, the time passed, the hours of evening came, and at last it 
was nearly midnight without success attending their efforts Nothing 
daunted by his first failure, as he felt that it was only a haphazard ven- 
ture in the hope of obtaining a definite clew, Fenton then caused the 
same advertisement to be inserted in all of the leading morning journals. 
The same viligant watch to be kept at the hotel early the next morn- 
ing. 

Fenton arose early, as was his custom, determined ta take part in 
the watch himself.^ After breakfast he strolled leisurely up to the clerk’s 
desk, and stood for a short time idly turning the leaves of the great city 
directory. He was on the point of turning away again when his atten- 
tion was arrested by a middle-aged Jew, who was asking one of the 
clerks about the party desiring to know something of Stephen Hobart. 
Fenton at once concluded that the Jew was not a special messenger sent 
by Stephen, and he at once stepped forward and volunteered the infor- 
mation that he was the party whom the man wanted to see. 

The Jew explained how Stephen had bought a suit of clothing and 
exchanged them for his old ones, which he had left in his store only a 
short distance from the hotel. After. Stephens departure the proprietor 
was about to throw the clothing [among a lot of old rags but happened 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


243 


to see a letter sticking out of one of the pockets. He pulled it forth, 
and found it to be the letter of introduction from old man Hobart to 
his friend in Charleston. 

Of course, not knowing where to find Stephen, the merchant had 
laid the letter in his desk, and as it had never been called for he paid 
no attention to it until he had seen the morning’s advertisement, when, 
thinking the letter might be of some value to the advertiser, he brought 
it to the hotel. 

Upon informing the Jew that Stephen was his cousin, and that he 
was searching for him, the letter was promptly handed over and the 
bearer well recompensed for his trouble. On reading the letter Fenton 
felt like thumping his head for his dullness. He was well acquainted 
with the merchant in Charleston to whom the letter referred, and had 
even talked with his uncle Hobart about him. He wondered why he 
had not thought of writing to him before. Yes, Stephen must be in 
Charleston or its vicinity, and he felt sure that this merchant would 
know of his whereabouts. 

His impulse was to start for Charleston without delay, but after some 
consideration he concluded to call and acquaint Mr, Hexam with his in- 
tentions. No sooner determined upon than he was on his way to the 
boarding school, where he found father and daughter glad to welcome 
him. When he informed Mr. Hexarfi as to the probability of Stephen 
being found in Charleston and that he was about to go in search of him 
that gentleman immediately volunteered to accompany him, and it was 
accordingly arranged that they should make the start that night, when 
they would arrive in Charleston the next morning. 

This being settled upon, Mr. Hexam then acquainted Fenton with 
the immediate plans which himself and daughter had determined upon, 
since Flora did not desire to return to her mountain home, although she 
had relented somewhat upon being told of her uncle and aunt’s regret at 
her leaving them and their anxious solicitude for her welfare. He said 
they would endeavor to procure a house in close proximity to the board- 
ing school for the balance of the term which Fenton had contracted for 
and which had been willingly assumed by her father, and that they were 
to do some shopping that day to provide necessaries for their new house- 
hold and to replenish Flora’s wardrobe. 

* Fenton accepted an invitation to accompany them in their rounds 
for this purpose, and notwithstanding the trials and heartaches which 


A DIXIE gentleman. 


244 

each one of the trio had suffered in other days, and which probably had 
left a dark shadow upon their future lives, yet that day was spent pleas- 
antly and happily for all and eac h seemed to regret when the end was 
near. The father took especial pleasure in urging his daughter to more 
lavish expenditures, though if she yielded to his importunities it was not 
because it gave her pleasure to spend money freely, but for his gratifica- 
tion, Flora short but bitter experience had taught her some wholesome 
lessons, among which was that better uses could be found for wealth 
than to waste it in dress and finery. 

When evening came the happy and tired trio returned to the board- 
ing school, and the two gentleman made preparations for their visit to 
Charleston. 

Arriving in Charleston, they repaired to a hotel and ordered their 
breakfast, after which upon making a few inquiries they soon found their 
way to the old merchant’s place of business. Fenton had never met 
thisman, who had been of considerable prominence both before and during 
the war, but had often heard his grandfather speak of an intimate social 
and business acquaintance with him during his younger days. He felt 
sure of a cordial welcome when he should introduce himself, and looked 
forward with no little degree of pleasure to a meeting with his grand- 
father’s old friend. When they arrived at the old gentleman’s store they 
found him seated in a chair near the front entrance, looking old and 
feeble, much too far advanced in years Fenton thought, to be a particip- 
ant in active business affairs. 

Fenton stepped forward and, extending his hand, introduced himself 
as a grandson of Mr. William H. Fenton, of Virginia. The old mer- 
chant’s eyes and face lighted up with a friendly look of welcome at the 
sound of that name, and he heartily grasped and shook the young man’s 
hand. Then Fenton introduced Mr. Hexam as. his friend, and stated 
that they had just arrived in Charleston on some business matters. 

The old merchant plied Fenton with questions regarding his grand- 
father’s welfare and related several anecdotes connected with their 
former acquaintance. He had not paid much attention to political af- 
fairs for several years, and was greatly surprised to learn that Fenton 
was a congressman-elect, and congratulated him warmly upon his future 
prospects. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


245 


Fenton soon caused the conversation to drift toward some mention 
of the Hobart family, and, as if by accident, explained that Stephen had 
disappeared a short time previous and no one knew of his whereabouts. 
At this statement the old merchant started up in great surprise, and de- 
sired to know what caused his disappearance. This was exactly what 
Fenton had expected, and fully confirmed him in the belief that Stephen 
was not very far away at the present moment. Without in the least be- 
traying any excitement over the matter, howeve, he cooly related the 
history of the facts to the merchant, feeling that the old man before him 
was not* one who would spare any man guilty of such disgraceful 
conduct. 

“What was the name of this girl?’’ the old man inquired, “and who 
was she?” 

“She was the daughter of my friend here, and her name was Flora 
Hexam.” 

“Oh, yes, I begin to understand how it is,” said the merchant. 
“You have come here in search of Stephen have you not?” 

“Yes,” Fenton replied. 

‘‘And if you find him, what do you propose doing with him?” 

Both Mr. Fenton and Mr. Hexam started at this query, for neither 
were exactly prepared for its answer. The merchant interpreted their 
action to mean that they intended to do Stephen violence, which was 
corroborated at length by Mr. Hexam replying somewhat evasively: 

“I only want to see him for a few minutes.” 

However, the old man was not seeking to shield the young scrape- 
grace from the consequences of his actions and told his visitors that if he 
entertained any doubts whatever of the tiutli of their story that he might 
have assisted Stephen to get out of their reach, but since that could not 
be possible he felt it to be his duty to give them the information 
they desired, and at once directed them to Stephen’s place of business, 
which was only a short distance away. 

Fenton and Mr. Hexam immediately set out in .search of Stephen 
although they did not enter his store directly, as Fenton felt it was 
necessary to dissuade Mr. Hexam from any attempt at violence, both for 
his own sake and that of his daughter, however justifiable otherwise he 
might have been. After several minutes’ conference upon the subject 
Mr. Hexam agreed to abide by his friends’ advice and ende.ivor to end 
the matter peaceably at all hazards. 


246 - A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


Then they proceeded to enter Stephen’s store, and as they did so 
Fenton’s quick eye caught sight of Stephen as he entered a small count- 
ing-room at the rear end of the building. A moment later the loud re- 
port of a pistol, followed by a heavy fall to the floor of the little room, 
was heard. The two visitors, with two or three clerks and others, rushed 
back to the room, and there they found Stephen dying, with a bullet 
in his brain. In a few moments afterward he was dead. 

He had received a warning a few moments previous from the old 
merchant that the two men were in search of him and intended to do 
him violence, and had taken this method of forestalling them and saving 
himself future trouble. 


V. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 247 


CHAPTER XXL 

Nearly a year has passed away since the events recorded in the last 
chapter, and the air is crisp and frosty with the wind of winter again, 
yet without many changes having been observed in i^he personel of this 
narrative. 

Mr, Robert Fenton has been a member of congress in reality since 
the extra session which was held in April, and a faithful, zealous one at 
that. His acquaintance among the prominent representatives of differ- 
ent sections of the country has extended quite rapidly, and a large num- 
ber of excellent measures already owe their origin to him, bidding fair ' 
to soon become beneficial laws. His genius and untiring energy have 
received quick recognition, and it is plain that should he so elect there is 
little standing in the way of his becoming one of the most popular mem 
bersof that representative, but unweildy body. 

To see Fenton at his desk when the house was in session, or in the 
commiitee room, or poring over legal documents in his private room, 
or attending to the thousand various wants and correspondence of his 
constituents, one would not have thought that he spared much time for 
reflection over the affairs which perforce lay near his heart, nor did he. ^ 
Whenever such thoughts intruded themselves upon him, as they would 
do sometimes, he endeavored to banish them at once, aud work harder 
and with more zeal than ever. To perform' his whole duty became the 
first law of his nature, and there he found his greatest and only 
pleasure. 

Soon the holiday vacation was reached, and- congress adjourned for 
a period of two weeks. Many of his friends were going home to spend 
Christmas, and quite a number, knowing that Fenton was yet a bachelor 
with probably no particular fireside to visit, invitee^ him to accompany 
them home. But he had already accepted an invitation, and not caring 
to tell them just where he was going he intimated that he should proba- 
,bly spend the holidays sightseeing in New York. 


248 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


To New York he went most certainly, but tarried there only one 
day, making a few purchases asdntended presents, then he took the train 
for an hour or two’s ride along the beautiful Hudson, the edges of 
whose waters were skirted with sheets of ice. At length, stopping at a 
small unpretending station valise in hand, he made his way into a village 
near by, and halted in front of a livery-stable. Here he hired the neat- 
est cutter which the place afforded, and behind a dashing steed and 
tucked comfortably among the furs, he raced along the edge of the river 
for about five miles, the snow glistening in the sunlight and the frosty 
air bringing the red to his cheeks. 

There looms up before him a tall man.sion of red brick and stone, 
many-gabled roofs and large windows. A large stone wall marks the 
boundry of the grounds, whose terraces and slopes are now buwied beneath 
the fleecy snow. An arched gateway allows the driver to pass into the 
grounds and gradually up along the winding roadway. Thick-set shrub- 
bery and leafless trees, clothed in their winterish covering, do not pre- 
vent the traveler from obtaining a good view of the mansion before it is 
reached, and soon a face appears at one of the lower windows which he 
recognizes without any serious trouble and before he has alighted from 
the cutter the front door flies open and two well-known forms come 
rushing out to greet him. 

The manner of his welcome proves that Fenton’s visit was not 
wholly unexpected by Flora and her father, and he has no opportunity 
to doubt that it is thoroughly appreciated. When greetings have been 
exchanged the hostler is called and takes charge of the horse and cutter, 
and Fenton is conducted into the house and seated by a glowing fire. 

But even Fenton did not expect to see so much change in Fiora’s 
appearance. She has grown taller, is rounder, rosier cheeked and more 
lovely than ever before. Her face- wears a little subdued and more re- 
fined expression, and it is apparent that her manners and style of be- 
havior have undergone the most careful cultivation and instruction. She 
informs Fenton that she pnrsued her studies with great eagerness while 
at the boarding school in the city, and when herself and father had re- 
*moved to their present home on the banks of the Hudson, which he had 
purcha.sed, and he supplied her with private teachers and her progress 
had been very rapid. 

Fenton congratulated her upon her wonderful improvement, mentally 
concluding that she possessed very little resemblance to the little girl 
whom, a few years since, he had seen trudging up the hill to her mount- 
ain home with a large pail of water. He did not give utterance to this 
comparion, however, as he feared that a reference to it might deepen the 
subdued expression i4,pon her face and cause her to reflect too much upon 
the events of her past history for the good of her present happiness. 
Like an open book her whole life lay before him, and he was exceedingly 
thankful to think from out of what depths of misery, sorrow and shame 
she had been delivered that she might reign queen of her father’s house 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


249 


During the holiday season many happy hours were spent at the fire- 
side of the Hexams. It was a relaxation from business that Fenton very 
much needed. Mr, Hexam never tired of listening to Fenton’s political 
gossip and the general affairs of the country or of detailing his own ex- 
perience in foreign lands. He had insisted on sending his guest’s rig 
back to the livery-stable, and daily drives were taken over the surround- 
ing country in a double-seated* sleigh, drawn by a handsome span, of 
prancing bays. Not a few poor people had reason to rejoice within the 
confines of that memorable two weeks at being lucky enough to meet the 
occupants of the sleigh, and it was a difficult preposition to master in say- 
ing which of the three was the more charitably disposed. 

There is no doubt that all three felt better prepared to take up the 
routine duties of life when the time for separation came, and when the 
train had whirled him from their sight, they each hoped that such happy 
little meetings might come soon and often. 

Fenton had thoroughly enjoyed this brief season of rest. He had 
almostgrown into a groove of thought whereby he c5uld picture no hap- 
piness to himself beyond that to be obtained from duty performed. But 
here with the Hexams, he felt, was one spot thoroughly devoid of 
sophistry, bickering or strife. No creed but that of peaceful love ruled 
to pleasant atmosphere. No poses had to be made for the benefit of an 
exhorbitunt cc'nstituency. Peace, peace reigned everywhere, and rest 
was her companion. 

That was such a home as Fenton had fondly dreamed of one short 
year ago, but the recollections of which now seemed like ages gone by. 
Sometimes his memory would revert to them, and then his life would 
seem utterly sad and profitless. Why was it he was made to suffer, 
while other men did not, through the malignity of one woman and incon- 
stancy of another? He had but striven to do his whole duty between 
God and man, and yet his motives had been maligned, the innocent 
pleasure of his life thwarted, and the«one whom he loved best on earth 
had turned her face coldly from him. 

How had Elsie Thornton fared in the year which had dragged its 
existence along? It was as if a bright fire had gone out in the hearth of 
the old mansion on the hill during a cold, chilly day, and all efforts to 
rekindle it had proved unavailing. In vain'did Irene plead or chide her 
to forget her misplaced love. The light which of yore had so illumin- 
ated her lovely features was no longer there. Sometimes when her father 
would notice her depressed spirits and the absence of that gayety which 
had ever been the joy of his heart Elsie would endeavor to assume a 
cheerfulness which she did not feel. This she would do in order to 
prevent him from seeking to know the real cause of her great change, 
and so much was he engrossed in busidess affairs that this little ruse 
seemed to satisfy him for the time. But the mother and Irene were not 
thus easily deceived. They well knew that a great, brave, generous 
heart was struggling with the bitterest trial that a woman is called upon 
to battle with. It was a death struggle between love and duty. 


250 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


There were times when she felt that she could almost forgive Fen- 
ton everything, and when she was strongly tempted to call him back to a 
love and happiness that she felt would surely be hers, but the honor of 
the Thorntons was at stake. At least so Irene had taught her, and was 
careful to keep her in mind of it. Irene did not spend much of that 
year in Nashville. She had a double, duty to perform. One was to 
prevent Elsie from relenting toward Fenton, the other was to pave the 
way for an acceptance by her sister of Chris Engle’s suit, both of which 
demanded her utmost viligance. In the first effort she had ^us far been 
entirely successful, but she had gained very little ground toward the ac- 
complishment of the second. 

Elsie knew that Irene wanted her to marry Chris, and she constantly 
baffled all their invitations to give him encouragement. She did not 
blame Chris for his persistent efforts, for she knew that he was persuaded 
and pushed forward by Irene, but she could not forget the only real love 
she had ever known, and it was useless until this was done for her to at- 
tempt to love another. 

At first Elsie had thought Fenton would make some attempt to see 
her or make an explanation of his conduct by letter. “Surely,” she 
thought “if he really loves me as I love him, he will not give me up so 
easily,” although she could not repress the feeling that she had treated 
him harshly and unjustly, and if he were entirely innocent, — as she more 
than half believed — she had thus repelled him forever. 

At last, after much hoping and sore trial, Elsie concluded that Fen- 
ton had given over all intentions of ever seeking a reconciliation. For 
this period Irene had been eagerly watching, and although Elsie had not 
regained her former lively spirits, still Irene was convinced that she had 
given up hope and submitted herself to the inevitable loss of her lover. 
Then it was that Irene redoubled her efforts in urging Chris to haunt 
the presence of Elsie. 

One day more and the holiday season would be brought to a close, 
and Irene had warned Chris that he would not soon have a better op- 
portunity for pressing his suit with Elsie. The three had spent the most 
of the afternoon in the drawing room at Judge Thornton’s and the short 
winter day was fast merging into twilight when Irene made a sign to 
Chris, and then gave some excuse for leaving the room, 

Elsie was seated by the fire in a low cushioned rocker, with her chin 
resting upon her hand, and her eyes gazing reflectingly into the grate. 
Soon after Irene had left the room Chris arose from a seat near the front 
window, and, placing a chair near Elsie’s sat down by her. If the move- 
ment had attracted her attention she betrayed no knowledge of it, but re- 
mained quietly as before. It is more than probable that she felt conscious 
of what was coming and had concluded that it was best to let matters 
{ftke their own course. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


251 


“Elsie,” Chris began, his voice denoting the tenderness with which 
he regarded her, for he really felt great compassion for her sad, dejected 
air. “You have reason to know that I have always been your faithful 
friend from our school-days down to the present moment, and you 
will always have my best wishes for your happiness.” 

“You must not think that I will ever doubt your friendship, Chris.” 

“No, I do not. But I think you have always had serious doubts of 
my love for you. It is true that when I confessed my love to you a long 
time since I was rather young and inexperienced, and you had good reason 
for thinking that I had mistaken love for a mere schoolboy affection. 
But what can you say now, when I assure you that my love has never 
ceased and that time has only caused my affection for you to grow deeper 
than ever.” 

Fot a full minute Elsie did not reply then with a voice full of tender 
compassion she said: 

“There is nothing that I can say, dear Chris, except that my sorrow 
for you is greater than before. I think you know that your love, in the 
light you wish me to accept it, can never be returned. It was given un- 
reservedly to annother, and it is beyond my power to recall it.” 

“Do you mean to say,” said Chris rather harshly in spite of his ef- 
fort at self command, as he began to realize that he was just far from 
winning her as he was two years ago, “that you will persist in giving 
your affection to a man who cares nothing for you?” 

“There, Chris, that will do,” Elsie commanded in a firm tone, which 
ought to have warned Chris that he wasrisking matters too far, “I have 
told you the truth, much as I regret it for your sake, and you have no 
right to question me further.” 

“But you are cruelly unjust, Elsie, in putting aside one who loves 
you better than all others, and merely because you persist in caring for 
Robert Fenton, who has proven himself to be unworthy of you.” 

“Chris Engle, you have said enough. I have told you that I do not 
love you sufficiently to become your wife, and that ii is impossible for me 
to ever do so. Furthermore, 1 am convinced that you are laboring 
under a serious delusion. If you will seek elsewhere I am satisfied you 
will find a woman better suited for you.” 

“Thank you for your advice, Elsie Thornton,” said Chris coldly, 
“but it is not needed. I shall leave Melton to-morrow, perhaps forever, 
and doubtle.ss you will joyfully remember that you have been the cause.” 

Saying which Chris arose to take his leave, and Elsie realized that 
he was desperately in earnest, She could restrain her tears no more, and 
desperately clung to his arm. Though she felt that he was foolishly 
wrong, she could not brook the thought of his leaving a good, com- 
fortable, pleasant home and wandering among entire strangers in anger 
and on her account, for was he not her life-long friend? 

“Oh Chris,” she pieaded, “Do not leave me in anger. I cannot 
bear it,” 


252 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


“Then that is because you are selfish,” he cruelly replied. “Your 
own feelings concern you more than the feelings of others. “Fare- 
well.” 

He rudely threw off her clasp upon his arm, and stalked out of the 
room, and in a moment had quitted the house. Elsie sank back in her 
chair completely crushed and sobbing bitterly. She felt certain that 
Chris would put his intentions into execution, and yet she knew 
that she would do him a far greater wrong by giving him the least en- 
couragement. 

As for Chris, it was his dignity rather than his love which had 
suffered the most by his failure, though at the time he realized it not. 
He had made good his threat, and next morning bid his relatives and 
friends a sudden good-bye, with the intention of taking a trip to foreign 
lands. 

Irene was quick to interpret the meaning of Chris’ sudden depart- 
ure. She berated Elsie roundly for not giving him some encouragement 
telling her that she deserved to be married to insignificant nobody who 
would hoiior neither his wife nor himself and be compelled to live as a 
poor as a church-mouse. She pretended that she could not understand 
Elsie’s action in sending away a lover who possessed so many of the 
manly virtues and was so wealthy, refined and educated as Chris, But 
^ it was the last time she would interfere in her sister’s behalf. If she 
' was to grieve herself to death over an unprincipled upstart and to refuse 
the efforts of worthy young men, why then she must. But Irene would 
wash her hands of all responsibility for her sister’s welfare. 

And in a few days Irene had left Melton to return to Nashville 
that she might not miss more of the waning season’s enjoyment on ac- 
count of an ungrateful and disobedient sister, while Elsie, who had lis- 
■ tened to her reproaches in silence, bade her good-hye with a feeling 
akin to relief. For to follow Irene’s dictation was not only an impossi- 
bility when her future happiness was considered, but she also felt intui- 
tively that Irene was in some wav responsibile for the many weary 
months of unhappiness. 

By the time Chris Engle arrived in New York the unreasonable 
spirit which had taken possession of him began to lessen its force some- 
- what and his anger had tempered itself considerably, Somehow he did 
not feel as utterly miserable as he had pictured to himself that he would 
should Elsie reject him again. He knew that he had not been as con- 
fident as Irene that he would be accepted, and now, that he reflected 
over the matter cooly and clearly, he was not sure but that Elsie was 
the most sensible of the three. He knew that Elsie possessed a girlish 
affection for him that came from their long assc'ciation together, and 
that she held naught but the best wishes for his future. 

Chris was not in such a great hurry now to leave America as 
he was when he said good-bye to the Meltonites, though he still thought 
he would have to take a trip across the water, if only to keep up a rep- 



A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


253 


utation for truthfulness, and his pride would not permit of his returning 
to Melton at once. He called upon several former acquaintances in 
New York, and managed to fritter away a week or two in quite a pleas- 
ant manner. There were balls and theatrical parties without number, 
old schoolmates to hunt up, lectures to attend, and thus time flew rap- 
idly by. At the end of a month, however, time began to hang heavily, 
and he found himself seriously questioning whether he should not take 
the next outbound steamer. 

Walking one day along the liveliest part of Broadway, he was sud- 
denly button-holed by a dignified young gentleman, and on second 
glance easily recognized the young Congressman. 

“Why,"as I live, here is Chris Engle,” said Fenton, “I really did 
not expect, in stopping here for a half hour, that I would see anyone 
from the old home. When did you leave Melton?” 

Chris had been in the habit — when looking through Irene’s spec- 
tacles — of considering Fenton a formidable rival for Elsie’s affections, 
and a rival whom it was beneath him to consider in the race. But Chris 
had experienced a sensible change during the last month, and he had 
never harbored any serious animosity toward Fenton, since the latter al- 
ways treated him with the utmost cordiality and good feeling. He 
greeted Fenton warmly, and explained that Jie had been whiling away 
his time in the city for a month. 

“Then as I am in a great hurry to catch the train, and would like 
to have a chat with you, I will be pleased to have you bear me company 
on a little trip up the Hudson, where I am going to spend Sunday with 
a friend, and where I can assure you a hearty welcome,” 

Chris was easily persuaded jurt then to undertake almost any sort of 
a journey to while away the time. In a brief while the couple were 
.seated in the train bound for the locality where Fenton had spent the 
holidays. 

The Hexams, father and daughter, were again on the watch for Fen- 
ton’s expected appearance, though of course somewhat surprised to find 
him accompanied by a handsome young stranger. Mr. Hexam met them 
at the door, and escorted them into the long cozy parlor. He said he 
was glad to welcome any of Fenton’s friends and especially one from 
Tennessee, and very soon all three were deeply engrossed in conversation. 
Fenton had explained something of the Hexams to Chris while on the 
tram, but merely mentioned the fact that he had a daughter named 
Flora, without going further into her history. Flora did not put in her 
appearance until supper time, when the three gentlemen were seated at 

the table. • 

Chris had mentally concluded that Flora would prove to be on a level 
with the society young ladies of New York and other places whom he 
had met so frequently and of whom he had wearied so excessively, and 
he was probably not half so much interested in getting a first view of her 
as he was in doing justice to the tempting repast se^ " -^orehim, since 


254 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


his appetite had been whetted to an excellent degree by the brisk ride 
from the depot in the fresh country air. 

Accordingly he may perhaps be pardoned when Flora glided into the 
room and he found himself acknowledging an introduction to the most 
fascinating young lady whom he had ever met, and whose face seemed to 
remind him of one whom he had seen before. He was almost dumb 
with surprise. He actually forgot that he ever possessed such a bungling 
thing as an appetite. There was no room for doubt that this was the 
sweetest girl he had ever known. That he had proposed to an old sweet- 
heart a month ago was like a vanished dream. On Chris’ part it was 
love at first sight. 

Flora calmly considered Chris a very handsome young man, and she 
felt grateful to Fenton for what she believed was an effort to provide 
them with nice genial acquaintances, but she was not so quick to return 
the undisguised admiration which Chris made no attempt to conceal. 
Flora’s faith in mankind was not so universal as in her younger days. 

After the first salutations had been exchanged, and the conversation 
had drifted to general subjects Chris remembered that it was impolite to 
exhibit his admiration of Flora’s charms so unreservedly upon first sight , 
and ere long he regained that charming composure which had ever made 
liim such a favorite with the opposite sex. Yet he found himself won- 
dering at the similarity between Flora and the lady he had met or known 
somewhere. It was quite strange he did not recognize in her the appar- 
ently distressed girl in whose company he had found Fenton on a pre- 
vious visit to New York, and of whom he had spoken to Irene, but some- 
how he did not .recall the occurance of his former visit while at the 
Hexam mansion, nor, indeed, until many weeks afterward. 

It may be surmised that this short visit was most thoroughly en- 
joyed by all parties — that is, the Hexams, Fenton and Chris. On Sun- 
day Mr. Hexam’s brougham carried them to the stylish village church 
and during the drive Chris possessed the satisfaction of being seated by 
Flora’s side, and in the afternoon the two had a quiet stroll about the 
spacious grounds and along the border of the Hudson. 

Flora was enthusiastically intent upon entertaining Chris to the best 
of her ability for she found him to be a pleasant cc>mpanion, and he was 
a friend of Mr. Fenton, to whom she had ever felt deeply grateful and 
was always endeavoring to serve in some way in order to acknowledge 
her appreciation of his services. It is known that Flora had never had 
an opportunity of practicing any special art of fascination beyond that 
which nature had bestowed upon her. She was rapidly budding into 
beautiful womanhood. Contentment and happiness such as she had ex- 
perienced since she found her father had worked wonders in her appear- 
ance, though she had never been unprepossessing. She was practical, 
sensible, bewitching all at the same time. Her words were few but 
pointed, and her manner, though somewhat reserved, was a great im- 
provement upon that of the many social butterflies with whom Chris had 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


255 


previously been entertained. 

Is it any wonder that poor Chris lost his head and heart? Never 
did a short visit seem so short before. He felt like pummeling Fenton 
for asserting that they must take their leave on Monday’s early train. 
Would he consider this poor attempt at entertainment sufficient to cause 
him to repeat his visit? Mr. Hexam asked. Chris hardly dared to an- 
swer yes for fear he would say it too eagerly, but he stammered out 
some acceptance of the gracious invitation. He longed to say he would 
come soon and often. 

When he was once again back in New York. Fenton having hur- 
ried on to the capital, Chris had ample time to analyze his feelings more 
calmly. He Sid not attempt to deny to himself that he was in lo\e. 
His anger toward Elsie had vanished like the wind, and he felt really 
grateful to her that she had possessed the good sense to reject him. Now 
he knew the old-time friendship which existed between them was far dif- 
refent from love and he felt that Elsie knew that intuitively which it 
was necessary for him to learn by experience. 

But, like most impatient lovers, Chris did not see much to encour- 
age his new passion. He did not blind himself to the fact that Flora had 
not exerted herself to charm him beyond the duties devolving upon her 
as hostess. She had treated him precisely as she bad Mr. Fenton, who 
liad not sought to pay her any particular attention upon his own part. 
Altogether the prospect for an immediate renewal of his suit seemed 
rather blue. ' He could not force his presence upon his new-found ac- 
quaintam es immediately without good excuse, and existence in New 
York under the circumstances seemed perfectly dull. 

He had entirely given over his trip to Europe tor the present, and, 
not desiring to get very far away from the peaceful waters of the Hudson 
river just then, he did not return to Melton. How he managed to live 
out the next two weeks was always something of a mystery to him ever 
after, but their termination found him in a very desperate condition, in- 
somuch that he finally determined to proceed to desperate measures. 
Strange that he had not thought of it before. He would arrange an 
early visit to the Hexams on his own acccount, and be certain that Fen- 
ton was not along to hurry him away. 

Accordingly in the next mail he enclosed a note to Mr. Hexam in- 
forming him of a pretended enforced delay in the city on business, and 
iliat if agreeable to himself and daughter he would improve the occasion 
by another brief visit to them. On the second day thereafter he re- 
ceived a cordial invitation to come at once, which he lost no time in 
taking advantage of. • 

Flora Hexam had probably given no .serious thought to the object 
of Chris in making a second visit so soon after that of his first one. She 
did not flatter herself sufficiently to believe that she was the sole cause, 
or else she might have acted quite differently toward him. As before, 
sl-.e un.suspectingly assumed the role of charming hostess, at least to a 
decree that did not tend to render her imperfections greater in the eyes 


256 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


of Chris. He prolonged his visit, being urged by both Flora and her 
father, until nearly a week had passed, and only took his leave after he 
had secured an invitation to return on his next visit to New York, which 
he told them might be within a month. In truth, it was not his in- 
tention to leave the city until he had settled his fate, but having re- 
ceived no definite encouragement from Flora, as yet, he thought it best 
not to precipitate matters too hastily. 

Three weeks more passed, and again Chris arrived at the Hexam 
home. This time he sought a private interview with Mr. Hexam, and 
requested the privilege of seeking his daughter’s hand in marriage. The 
old gentleman had formed an exceedingly favorable opinien of the young 
man in his brief acquaintance, and although he did not relish the idea of 
even a short separation from his beloved child, he felt that it would be 
unselfish in him not to consult her future happiness. He therefore 
gave his consent to Chris’ proposal and assured him that he would place 
no obstacle in his pathway. 

There had been no secret between father and daughter since the 
moment of their reunion, and Mr. Hexam very soon apprised Flora of 
the request made by their young visitor. When she had sufficiently re- 
covered from her surprise she said to her father: 

“But, father, do you wish me to marry?” 

“For your qwn happiness, my daughter, I give my consent.” 

“I think I shall remain with you always. 

“Nothing could please me better, my dear girl; but you know I am 
beginning to get old, and may not be with you very long.” 

But Flora persisted that if he was getting old, though to her h 
seemed to be growing younger, then he needed her ministrations the 
more, and so long as she had him with her she would be happy. Still, 
she uttered not a word against Chris, for she had been more than pleased 
with his visits, and was rather inclined to regret that her determination 
not to maray might possibly deter him from coming to see them in the 
future. 

Being warned in advance of his expected proposal. Flora was not 
taken by surprise when Chris finally broached the subject. Yet she was not 
prepared for the earnest, manly pleading with which Chris followed up 
her answer of decision never to marry while her father was alive. He 
told her that he did not desire to separate her from her father; that he 
would only assist her to love and cherish him in his old age, and that he 
desired the right to protect and care for her when her father was no more. 
Still refusing, he persistently implored her to have pity upon the happi- 
ness of one who had not known a moment of peac e since he had seen her, 
and who felt that life would be a burden without her. 

At last Flora began to be alarmed for herself. She realized that 
she felt more than a passing interest in Chris, and it was beyond her 
nature to withhold pity. It seemed that she must give him some hope 
until she could have time to think the matter over calmly and determine 
what to do. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


257 


“Mr. Engle,” she said at last, “what you have said has startled me. 
Perhaps I have been to hasty in my decision, but I cannot answer you 
now. I must have time to think. 

“All the time you need,” said Chris eagerly, who was growing quite 
dejected at Flora’s refusal. 

“Then if I am not asking too much, come again in a month, and I 
will give you an answer.” 

Chris thought this was a good sign and felt greatly elated over the 
prospect that her answer would be favorable, although he knew that his 
month’s probation would seem like a year. On the next morning he 
took his departure for the city, where he made preparations in various 
ways to beguile the time away for a month. 

The usual happy face of Flora bore a perplexed expression after 
the departure of Chris, which her father interpreted to mean that the 
young man would finally win his suit, and really the old gentleman was 
rather pleased than otherwise. But Flora was studying a grave ques- 
tion. Under ordinary circumstances she felt she would have little hesit- 
tation in marrying Chris. He was a noble, refined and affectionate man, 
and the son of honest and respected parents. He believed her to be a 
pure, simple-hearted maiden who had never known aught else than a 
parent’s caressing love. , He evidently had no knowledge of her true his- 
tory. Would it be right for her to consent to marry him without telling 
him of her past? 


258 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER XXIL 

Poor, unfortunate Chris. What a queer anomaly for the son of a 
wealthy man! But this is the condition in which he found himself, 
when he had once more arrived in New York. He believed that Flora 
was not entirely insensible to his wooing, but she had certainly taken 
time to consider her own feelings carefully and her decision had been 
final. Chris felt there was no earthly appeal. The more he thought 
the matter over the more he loved her. No trace of anger had influ- 
enced him in acquiescing to the fate which she had pronounced for him, 
as had been the case when rejected by Elsie. He was vexed to be sure, 
but not angry. There was no rival to make jealous or at least Chris 
knew of none, and yet he realized there was something in Flora’s man- 
ner which seemed to prevent her from doing as she might have done had 
she been otherwise free. What it was in definite form Chris had not 
the slightest clew to reason from. 

Utter hopelessness took possession of him. He scarcely knew 
which way to turn for relief from the despair which seemed to be set- 
tling upon him like a pall. His mind was in a fever of unrest. Before 
hope had buoyed him up in his inactivity — now that prop was gone. 
The city became hateful to him. He must do something to divert his 
mind or what would the consequences? At last he resolved to return to 
his work in his father’s store. This at least would prevent him from 
doing something desperate, if not dangerous. Once decided, he made 
preparations to return to Melton, and in a few days he walked into 
his father’s house quite as abruptly as he had left but a short time 
previous. 

Chris procceeded to the discharge of his usual duties without vouch- 
safing any explanation of his conduct more than to say that he had been 
whiling away the time in New York with some friends. His parents 
fully credited this statement, for they had always found him truthful and 
honest to the last degree,nor did they look close enough to detect the 
keen lines of suffering that he was endeavoring to hide beneath a careless 
exterior. There were those, however, that noticad a more quite and 
taciturn manner than was usual with him, and they knowingly attribiUecl 
Utii) iQ some misunderstanding between him and Elste, 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


259 


One day in the early spring Chris was sitting behind a pile of dress 
goods, reading a paper. On the opposite a clerk was engaged in wait- 
ing upon a lady customer. Just as she had concluded her purchase Irene 
Thornton, who had but recently returned from the city stepped into the 
store and soon began a conversation with the lady, who was an ac- 
quaintance. Irene proceeded to detail the general gossip of the vilage. 
Chris had been attracted from his paper by. the sound of her voice, and 
he sat still and listened, little thinking he would overhear anything of 
importance to himself or others. 

If Irene had but known that she had two listners instead of one, it 
is more than probable that she would have altered the current of her 
conversation, which ere long drifted into matters concerning her sister 
Elsie. She told her acquaintance of the manner in which she had brought 
about the separation of Fenton and Elsie and how adroitly she had ob- 
tained the promise from Elsie not to accept him unless he made a vol- 
untary confession of his conduct in New York. She spoke of her an- 
tipathy toward Fenton, and congratulated herself that she hadr prevented 
him from being a member of the family, though she had failed in her en- 
deavor to persuade her sister to marry Chris. She thought, however, 
that time would bring matters all right yet and she did not despair, 

Chris knew now that the conversation was not intended for his ears, 
but it was too late for him to make his presence known, and so he sat 
still until the ladies had left the store. This conversation turned his 
thoughts into a channel that he had scarcely heeded before. It is true 
that Irene had told him something of the same kind about Fenton, but 
was there any real truth in it? Somehow he did not believe there was. 
Was Irene a woman to be fully trusted in a matter of this kind, or was 
she seeking to do Fenton a great wrong because she had taken a foolish 
dislike to him? The conversation he had overheard would indicate that 
much. There was nothing to blind Chris in the view of the question 
now. He was not the rival of Fenton for Elsie’s hand. 

From what Chris had seen of Fenton lately he had reason to believe 
that he was a thoroughly honest and honorable man. If that was so, 
was it right that Elsie should be prejudiced against him? For several 
days Chris thought earnestly about what he should do, or whether it was 
best for him to interfere, and he finally concluded to wait until Fenton 
should return to Melton, and then put some straight questions to him. 
He knew that he would not have long to wait, for Fenton was expected 
in a very few days. 

Fenton was at least ten years the senior of Chris Engle, which fact 
will account for the lack of any great amount of knowledge on the part 
of each of the other’s personal affairs, as especially since Chris’s arrival 
at more mature years he had been absent from home a greater part of the 
time. And during the time they had been thrown together in their visit 
to the home on the Hudson nothing but affairs of a general nature had 
been discussed between them, Accordingly Chris feU a little delicacy 


26 o 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


in broaching an affair of such long standing as the quarrel between Elsie 
and her lover. 

Perhaps Chris thought, as Elsie had already done, that having con- 
sidered himself very unjustly and even rudely treated, Fenton had made 
use of his strong will as had enabled him to throw off the love spell which 
Elsie had exercised over him, and, aided by the busy vortex of national' 
affairs which had recently engrossed his attention, he had as completely 
forgotten alike both Elsie’s charms and rebuffs as if neither had any ex- 
istence. If that was the case then it would be worse than useless for 
Chris to attempt a reconciliation. It would not alone be a thankless 
task, but expose him to a suspicion in the eyes of Fenton that he had 
been delegated by Elsie to sue in an underhanded way for that forgive- 
ness which she was ashamed to acknowledge was his right. 

However, Chris now thoroughly understood the state of Elsie’s 
feelings toward Fenton, even if he was not so familiar with those of 
Fenton himself, and he determined to avail himself of any chance op- 
portunity which might be offered to bring the estranged pair together 
should he ascertain that his object was equally desirable to both. 

When Fenton arrived at Melton at the close of a long congres- 
sional session, Chris was careful to note that he made no call at the 
Thornton mansion, as he had once been in the habit of doing. He was 
genial and pleasant as formerly toward all who called upon him in his 
office, but only remained in Melton for a day or so, when he set out 
upon a tour among his constituents over the district, which caused his 
absence for about two weeksr If his love affair did not progress 
smoothly it proved at least no hindrance to the increase of his popular- 
ity as a politician, that is so far as his own constituency was cbncerned, 
for he had scarcely become warm enough in his seat in congress to cause 
any stir in the outside world. 

Again he returned to Melton, and this time Chris found a chance to 
engage him in a private conversation, little thinking of the important 
results coming througit to both. 

“I suppose, Mr. Fenton,” Chris began with a sort of sheepish re- 
memberance of his recent failure at matchmaking, “that you are aware 
of my return visit to the Hexam’s after you left me in New York?” 

“Why, no; I heard nothing of it?” said Fenton inquiringly. 

“Yes, you see I had nothing particular to do in the city, and the 
time grew rather dull, so I just wrote a sort of invitation to myself to go 
back to the Hudson, and Mr. Hexam kindly indorsed it.” 

“Indeed,” said Fenton, with a roguish twinkle of the eye, “I was 
not aware Mr. Hexam possessed so much magnetism at to attract young 
men of your age.” 

“But how about young men of your age?” Chris retaliated, 

“Well, between us,” said Fenton, with a feigned assumption of 
speaking guardedly, “I admire the daughter fully as mugh ^s I do the 
father.’^ 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


26 1 


“But what seemed rather strange to me,” answered Chris, “was 
that you payed her comparatively little attention, devoting yourself 
mostly to her father”^ 

“There is a story connected with the family which I will relate to 
you some time, and which may be able to account to you for all sur- 
face appearances. Believe me I am greatly interested in Flora Hexam’s 
welfare.” 

“So am I,” acknowledged Chris, so boldly that Fenton looked at 
him with surprise, “and I wish you would tell me the story now. Some- 
thing warns me that it will clear up a mystery that has enveloped my 
mind for several weeks.” 

“I do not mind telling you at once, but let me enjoin the strict- 
est confidence, as otherwise Flora’s future happiness might be in- 
volved.” 

“I willingly promise to divulge nothing without your consent.” 

Fenton then related to Chris the entire history of Flora and her 
family, beginning with his own reflections at the time he first beheld the 
seemingly friendless girl trudging up the hill with a bucket of water, 
telling how, untutored and neglected, she had grown up to young woman- 
hood, of her elopement and marriage to his cousin Stephen, their flight 
to the city, where he found her alone and deserted, of his efforts in 
arresting her in a downward course, the home-coming of her father, 
Stephen’s suicide, and lastly, that which Chris had ample means of 
knowing himself, of her refinement, education, grace and protection of a 
worshiping father. 

Chris listened eagerly and in silence at the interesting recital, inter- 
rupting only once to ask if Flora was the same girl in whose company 
he had seen Fenton one day in New York, to which Fenton replied in 
the affirmative. When the story was finished Chris seemed lost in deep 
thought and for a little while remained silent. Then he said: 

“And this is why she rejected me.” 

Fenton was surprised that he had even proposed to Flora in so short 
a time, but expressed the utmost sympathy for him and bid him hope 
that, if the knowledge of her history had not caused a change in his af- 
fection for her, time and patience would bring everything right at last. 

Chris declared that he loved her more than ever, and said that he 
would sit down at once and write to her that, notwithstanding the events 
of her past history, a full knowledge of which he possessed, he would con- 
tinue to press his ciaim upon her until she forbid him to hope longer. 

This letter he fully intended to write, and went home that night for 
the purpose, instead of remaining late at the store as was his custom. 
But when he had settled himself down at his private desk the words re- 
fused to shape themselves into a letter to his satisfaction. He could not 
frame them into a recital of the tender sympathetic feeling which he en- 
tertained for her, and the bare idea of asserting it on paper that he was 
possessed of her entire history — a story which she had evidently desired 


262 


A DIXIE gentleman. 


to screen from him — why, it seemed like brazen effrontry upon his part 
to hint at such a ihing. The more he pondered upon how to write the 
letter the better he became convinced that it would never do to write at 
all. At least he decided that he would go himself, and that he would not 
take no for an answer. 

Having reached this decision, Chris fell to thinking of Fenton’s sac- 
rificing efforts to save the poor homeless, deserted waif. Here was proof 
positive that Irene Thornton’s accusations were cruelly false. What- 
ever Fenton’s consideration for Elsie might beat the present time, it was 
due to him that Elsie should know the truth and realize the extent of 
the wrong which had been done him. Chris determined to set matters 
right at once. He would see Elsie on the morrow. 

At an early hour the next morning Chris Engle appeared on the 
walk leading up to Judge Thornton’s residence, for the first lime in many 
weeks. He well remembered the dignified manner he had assumed when 
leaving the house on his previous visit, and could scarcely repress a smile 
at the lightning change which had been wrought in his affections since 
then. Yet he realized that the change was not wholly so great after all, 
but simply that his eyes were opened to the fact that the real love of his 
life had not come to him in the charming person of Elsie Thornton, 

Yet charming she was, indeed, as he fully realized when he saw her 
standing on the front piazza, looking toward him with her bright eyes 
and a welcoming smile. 

“Oh, Chris, I am so glad you have come at last,” she said, and 
there was no trace of reserve caused by remembrance of their bitter 
parting, 

“I am glad to meet you, Elsie, but I do not deserve your welcome. 
I treated you like a brute, and I am thorougly ashamed of myself,” 

“Hush! I have no reproaches for you, and will not allow you to 
reproach yourself. You wanted me to give up an old schoolmate for a 
lover, and I declined. I loved him too well to pretend that which I did 
not feel. That’s all,” 

“Your womanly instinct has preserved us from what may have 
been unhappy lives to both of us, and I thank you for it,” and Chris 
shook her hand solemnly. 

“Put what about the advice I gave you?” asked Elsie mischiev- 
ously. 

“Pardon me, but I have forgotten what it was.” 

“To seek a woman better suited for you,” 

“I will answer you candid y,” said Chris. “I have found a woman 
whom I love deeply, and one I who is more than worthy of me. I will 
tell you still more. It is concerning her that I called to see you this 
morning. She is the same young lady in whose company I once saw Mr. 
Fenton in New York, of which I spoke to you in Nashville, and the 
same of whom Irene has spoken to you in connection with him, and for 
the sake of whom he has sacrificed the respect which you held for him in 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


263 


order that he might avert for her a depraved life, threatened by the de - 
sertion of his own cousin. 

“Can this be true?” asked Elsie, with an effort at self-control as she 
sank into a chair. 

“Every word is true,” answered Chris earnestly. “I am bound not 
to reveal her name or identity at present, but proof of all I say can be 
easily established.” 

“Then Mr. Fenton had been greatly wronged. I never could per- 
suade myself that I was doing right in treating him as I have done, but 
Irene’s views seemed so plausible, and he would not offer an explanation. 
Now I know it was because he felt hurt at the idea of my doubting him. 
I have been cruelly mistaken. Oh, what shall I do?” And the tears 
which sprang to her eyes and coursed down her velvet cheeks welled 
from a heart overflowing with mingled remorse and sympathy for one 
whom she had loved so long and dearly. 

“Do not be distressed, dear Elsie. Be assured that all will yet come 
right,” sympathized Chris. “I wanted you to know the truth.” 

“And I thank you ever so much. Even if he has ceased to care for 
me, I am glad to have positive assurance that he is one of God’s noble- 
men. Possibly if I had been worthy of him I would never have doubted 
him for one moment.” 

“Say not so, Elsie Thornton. You are worthy of him or any man 
that lives.” declared Chris vehemently. “And he would not be the man 
that he is if he did not at once forgive your doubts under such circum- 
stances. You are not the one to blame. Irene alone should suffer, 
My advice would be to send for Mr. Fenton and confess the whole 
truth to him. If he refuses to make you a happy woman then he should 
be a miserable man for the remainder of his life.” 

“I fear you are more enthusiastic in my praise than I deserve,” 
smiled Elsie. “Bnt I will consider what you say, and may follow your 
advice. I must have time to think. I shall at least apologize to him 
for the manner in which I have treated him.” 

“Do so, and I will not fear the rest. I must now take my leave in 
order to prepare for another journey, as I shall depart for New York in 
the morning.” 

“Going to see your lady love, I suppose,” laughed Elsie. “Tell her 
there is a lady down in Tennessee who longs to give her a great big hug 
and ever so many kissess.” 

“If she consents to receive them at my hands I will deliver them on 
the spot.” 

So saying Chris bade her good-bye and strode down the gravel path. 
When he was lost to view, Elsie’s face resolved itself into a study. She 
knew that Fenton was in Melton at that moment. Only the night pre- 
vious he had sent his compliments to the family by her father, saying 
that he would endeavor to call if he could find the time. He had pre- 
viously sent just such messages, but never came. Elsie felt that he 


264 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


would not come this time unless she sent for him. Wouldhe come then? 
He had rested under the banishment imposed by herself so long and had 
mixed with the outside world to such an extent that perhaps he had 
grown callous, indifferent and unloving. Perhaps he had even forgotten 
that he had anything to forgive. Since she yielded her heart up to him 
there had been no wavering in her love. When she had spoken to Chris 
of doubts she was simply screening Irene from [receiving all the blame. 
She believed that if Fenton allowed himself to love or care for anyone 
that that one was herself, but had he not proven that his pride was 
stronger than his love? Having remained master of his passion so long, 
would his pride ever consent to love beating down the barrier which it 
had erected? 

Elsie argued this point with herself long and earnestly. She could 
not decide to send for Fenton. Pride had certainly conquered his love, 
and her confession would only humiliate herself without altering his 
opinion of her. Being innocent of wrong doing himself, he had doubtless 
condemned her as unworthy of the confidence which he had formerly 
reposed in her. She had forfeited all claim upon his love by declaring 
that be was unworthy of her trust. Her heart ached for the right to 
shower kisses upon his head and words of endearment npon his senses, 
but her calm judgment urged that it was all too late. She must endure 
her trials to the bitter end. < 

Chris Engle felt quite happy the next morning when he boarded 
the stage-coach on his way back to New York. He felt reasonably sure 
that Flora could not withstand his pleading now. The belief that Flora 
had evolved a subterfuge in remaining with her papa as long as he lived 
because she did not want to yield up the history of ner past life grew 
upon him with each succeeding hour. He commended her delicacy and, 
refinement, and yet he would not hesitate to dissolve her objections to a 
marriage by the use of knowledge that she had endeavored to shield from 
him. Not that he intended to take any undue advantage of her defense- 
less position, but simply to convince her that his love was strong and 
deep enough to encompass all rememberances of the past. 

- As to a reconciliation between Fenton and Elsie, he did not doubt 
that it would soon be accomplished, and if perchance the ardor of Fen- 
ton’s love had grown chilly, why one sight of Elsie s laughing eyes would 
cure a severe case of ague, to say nothing of love’s little disagreeables. 

The journey to the eastern sea coast took no longer than was usual 
in those days of somewhat wearisome travel, but it seemed like an age 
to Chris. Never did train move so slow, nor stop so long for nothing. 
There were incidents, mere trifles in themselves but just as good as a 
mountain with which to stop or delay a traveler, and, more than all that 
Chris’ stock of patience was not half so long as the route over which he 
traveled. But there was an end to the route, and the hope of a great 
reward enabled Chris to reach it at last. 

After he had arrived at the eastern metropolis it took him but a 


A gentleman. 


^65 


short time to make arrangements for a trip up the Hudson, and he soon 
alighted at the station nearest to Mr. Hexam’s residence. Driving over 
the five-mile road behind a prancing pair of bays, he could not help re- 
membering with how sad a heart he had passed along in the opposite 
direction but a few weeks before, Then there was scarcely a blade of 
green grass along the wayside, now they were in plenty, and flowers, too, 
and although time was rather more precious now than then, yet he could 
not avoid gathering a few cf the finest ones to brighten his return. Of 
course they would exchange ownership at the end of the drive. 

The Hexam villa is reached, and Chris has turned the bays into the 
private grounds. He half expects to see a fair face peeping out of a 
front window and then the alarm to be given that he is approaching, 
but as he glances up at the house it looks quite different from its former 
appearance. As he draws nearer, he sees that the blinds are closed at 
every window, ard the surrounding grounds have a quite deserted air. 

Chris alights from the buggy and approaches the door. The bell 
answers loudly to his touch, but its own echoes are the only answers it 
gives. The house is deserted. Chris is painfully surprised at this discov- 
ery. So full of hope a few moments before and now entirely hopeless, 
with not a view by which to trace the whereabouts of the one being 
dearer to him that the whole world beside. 

Convincing himself thoroughly that the house has not a single living 
inhabitant, he turns to retrace his steps to the station hoping to gain 
some information there. Having reached the main road again, he soon 
espies a neighboring house situated only a few rods distant. He drove 
toward the small, unpreteiitious place and when near the yard fastened his 
team and approached the door. A loud knock was promptly answered 
by a girl of about sixteen. Chris asked if they had any knowledge of the 
whereabouts of the Hexam family, and was informed that the place had 
been sold, and it was said that the father and daughter had left or were 
about to depart for Europe. 

The young man thanked his informant, and lost no time in get- 
ting back to his team. A good record for fast driving was made that 
day from the Hexam house to the village station, and when the bay team 
' was driven into the stable the one thing most needed by it was a good 
long rest. At the station the girl’s story of the Hexam’s departure for 
Europe was confirmed, and the additional information that the pair had 
sailed from New York nearly a week before. 

Chris returned to the city rather sad and dejected. He was at a 
loss to understand their sudden breaking up of their comfortable home 
and departure for foreign lands, and if he had known that his own 
proposal of a few weeks before had been the prime cause he would 
probably have hesitated about signing the passenger list of the next out- 
going steamer. But he was not to be daunted so eastly. When he was 
ruminating over an ocean voyage in January it was without having any 
more particular object in view than to avenge his insulted pride, but 


266 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


now lie bad something to take a trip lor, and he determined never to 
stop until he confronted the young lady who appeared to be resolutely 
rnuning away from him. 

Yet is was nearly a fortnight before another Liverpool vessel was to 
steam out of New York harbor, and though chaffing at the enforced de- 
lay, Chris made ample provision for an extended trip abroad. He wrote 
a brief letter explaining to his parents his object in going abroad was to 
make a summer tour of Europe with some friends, but that he might be 
prevailed upon to spend the winter there, and he desired sufficient funds 
sent him for that purpose. Chris knew that money in plenty would be 
forth coming whenever needed, and felt no anxiety upon that point. 

By the time the steamship was leady to sail Chris was fully prepared 
to follow his beloved one to the other side of the world if necessary. 
As good luck would have it, two of his former school mates were to sail 
upon the same vessel, and as the trio arrived on board Chris was jubilant 
over the prospects of the coming chase. Surely no pursuer, though he 
be a lover as eager as Chris, could ask for more favorable circumstances. 

Liverpool was reached at last, and now the search began in earnest. 
Chris was enthusiastic, and none could blame him. There was one aim 
constantly before him, only the accomplishment of which seemed to him 
to make life worth the living. He believed that Flora loved him, but 
felt herself unworthy to become his partner for life. Perhaps she be- 
came conscious of the fact that Chris would not rest satisfied with the 
denial she had given him. Possibly she feared that other lovers would 
seek her out, situated prominently as they were in a luxurious home on 
the banks of the Hudson. If these thoughts came to her, as was not at 
all improbable, then it was she who had persuaded her father to dispose 
of their beautiful home, with the idea of seeking some retired nook in a 
foreign land, there to remain until the world had forgotten them and 
their troubles, when they might again venture forth without fear of mo- 
lestation from the demands of the social world. 

If self-banishment had been the object of the Hexams, then it was 
more than probable they would carefully conceal both their destination 
and the manner in which they had chosen to reach it. As Chris began 
to prosecute his search these thoughts kept running through his mind, 
and he realized that he had not undertaken an easy task. Indeed, it 
was one that might require months, possibly years, to work out. Still 
he was enthusiastic, and that is a great aid in any undertaking. As he 
anticipated, he readily traced the fugitive pair to London, but there they 
seemed to plunge into a great whirlpool, and their identity at once be- 
came absorbed by the seething waters. 

He visited all the popular tourist hotels without success. If they 
had stopped at any of them they were under a disguise both in name and 
appearance. After searching the city as thoroughly as possible,he de- 
cided upon a visit to the fashionable watering places. To Bath, Bright- 
on and numerous resorts he hurried, all with the same result, Not a 


A dixie: gentleman. 


267 


single trace was to be found. Then he quitted England for the conti- 
nent, and wandered through all the old cities, searching constantly in 
every conceivable place. Had they been spirited away from the earth 
they could not have vanished more completely. 

Autumn leaves were falling thick and fast when Chris returned to 
London, heartsore, dispirited and looking quite worn and haggard. He 
had been everywhere that seemed to suggest itself as a possible hiding- 
place or that would tempt curiosity seekers. He would endeavor to rest 
awhile and recuperate his spirits and strength, and then start out afresh, 
for despair had never seized him ev^ for a moment. 


‘ 2^8 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

Several letters awaited the arrival of Chris in London, and one of 
them was from Fenton. Chris had written to him some time previous 
concerning the sudden departure of the Hexams from America and de- 
picting the fruitless search he was then making over the continent to 
trace them. In this answer Fenton said that he was greatly surprised 
that they had left so hurriedly and without warning to himself, but that 
he attributed it to the same motive Chris had maintained — to escape the 
further annoyance of suitors like Chris — and thought it would be a very 
difficult matter to locate their whereabouts. Were it not that his duties 
to his constituents were so very urgent just at that time he would gladly 
join Chris in his search. That being impossible, however, he would 
make a suggestion that might possibly be of some benefit in the search. 
Mr. Hexam had related to him how he had accumulated the major por- 
tion of his fortune through a business connection with the Grecian gov- 
ernment, and which had necessitated his spending a large portion of his 
time in the city of Athens. No doubt he had acquired an intimate 
knowledge of the citizens of that country and their mode of living, and 
possibly had availed himself of that knowledge in seeking a place of re- 
tirement where he would be free from the intrusion of citizens of his own 
country. 

Truly this was a somewhat meagre clue to work upon, but it had a 
wonderful effect upon the mind of Chris. “How stupid I have been!” 
he thought. “ W%, Athens is the first place I should have gone, and yet 
such an out-of-the-way place never entered my mind.” 

But by this time Chris had thoroughly learned one lesson of much 
importance to him, as it proved afterward; that was to curb his impa- 
tience. He now knew that he absolutely needed and must have rest, 
and therefore he did not set out on his journey to Athens at once, as 
would most probably have been the case at the commencement of his 
wild chase. He spent three whole weeks in London, during which time 
he again wrote to Fenton and received an answer. He wanted more 
definite information about Mr. Hexam’s former business in Greece, and 
with what particular persons it was carried on. Fenton told him every- 
thing in connection therewith that he could call to mind, but Mr. Hexam 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


269 


had^not dwelt upon the details of his transactions, speaking of them only 
in a general way. 

Chris spent the most of his leisure time while in London in studying 
the habits and cu.stoms of the people in. Greece as related by travelers 
and acquiring such information as it was possible to obtain from persons 
who had visited there wherever he could meet with them. He was 
determined that his search this time should be conducted upon the most 
intelligent basis possible, and that when he arrived in Athens no stone 
should be left unturned that seemed at all likely to reveal the hiding 
place of the woman he wished to call his wife. 

When he finally started out from London upon his second tour of 
ir. vest igat ion Chris had a settled conviction in his mind that the mission 
would be a successful one. He was looking quite himself again, in most 
excellent spirits, and eager to view the modern representative of the 
ancient city, the valor of whose citizens he had so greatly admired in his 
school boy days. He was quite ready to believe that his dreams of other 
days when brave, unconquered warriors defended the Athenian walls 
would meet with a sad disapointment in viewing the modern leality, but 
that was neither here nor there. If the modern Greek attempted to pre- 
vent him from obtaining the American prize he was in quest of then it 
would be a bad season for the Greek, that was all. 

Now Chris has reached the Athens of modern times, and is driven to 
a house where nearly all foreigners stop. It is a queer, quaint looking 
structure of but two stories, with many large porches, bordered with 
shrubbery, and a flat roof, with a garden on top. Several American 
tourists are there, and Chris soon feels much as though he were in 
America, though the odd looking habits of the Persians, who predom- 
inate among the inhibitants, rather detract from the idea. 

After suitable rest and refreshment, the young man inquires his 
way to the oflice of the American consul, to whom he presents his pass- 
ports, and acquaints him with the object of his visit. That gentleman 
readily consented to Chris’ request to render him whatever aid lay in his 
power, and personally accompanied him to interview a couple of business 
men whom b'enton had mentioned in his letter as likely to be able to 
throw some light upon the whereabouts of the Hexams, The result of 
his visit, however, was rather a disapointment. Chris expected to get 
some definite information at once, but received none whatever. If these 
men knew anything concerning the Hexams, either past or present, they 
were certainly instructed not to divulge it, and obeyed such instructions 
to the very letter. They professed to know nothing. And as far as 
Chris was able to judge on a brief acquaintance they had the appearance 
of being honorable, truthful men. 

Chris returned to the hotel rather sadly, but noi despairing. He 
resolved if necessary to visit the house of every foreign resident in 
Athens, hoping to find the father and daughter living in some one of 


270 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


them in disguise. He would never give up until the last ray of hope 
was gone. 

At the hotel Chris met an English physican, who, with his wife and 
daughter, had been spending a couple of months in that ancient city. 
The doc tor was introduced to Chris by one of the Americans whom he 
had talked with upon his arrival in Athens. After the doctor had in- 
quired of Chris whether he had been in London and concerning news 
there of general interest, he turned to the American and continued a 
conversation in which they had been engaged as Chris came up. 

“The young lady was much frightened at first,” said the physican, 
-“but I hastened to assure her there was no cause for alarm. Her father 
had been taking rather more exercise t^ian he was accustomed to and 
the heated atmosphere caused him to suffer a slight fainting spell. He 
was as well as ever in an hour,’ ’ 

“May I ask to whom you allude?” ventured Chris, for he was 
resolved upon improving every opportunity to learn about the peo- 
ple who lived in the city, especiaily such as showed themselves to be 
strangers. 

“Most certainly,” responded the affable doctor. “I refer to a 
couple who live in that large house you see just over there on a little 
hill.” 

“Do I understand that you have been practicing here?” queried 
Chris. 

“Only in this way. Foreigners often send to this hotel in the hope 
of getting a physician when none are to be had elsewhere, as there are 
frequently several here at a time — tourists, you know, like myself. I 
was called to the place yonder to-day for the first time and in great haste, 
but with the result I have just explained.” 

After a little further talk Chris excused himself and repaired to his 
room. Here he at once proceeded to bring out a set of false whiskers 
from his trunk, and after viewing himself in the glass with them on he 
felt satisfied that his own mother would not know him. He then placed 
the whiskers in a convenient pocket, ready for instant use, and leisurely 
strolled out into town. 

It was nearly dusk when he reached the hill on which stood the 
house that the physician had pointed out. As he began to ascend the 
walk leading up to the house Chris glanced quickly around him to see 
if anybody was looking, and then clapped the false whiskers on his face. 
He changed his gait to a very perceptible limp, and slowly hobbled up 
to the door. 

The house was a one-story brick building, with a portico in front. 
Just as Chris reached the portico steps a young lady made her appearance 
in the doorway. Chris doffed his hat and bowed. The young lady bid 
him good evening in excellent English, and inquired who he wished 
to see, Chris was immediately convinced that he was at the wrong 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


271 


house, but it was too late to back out and he resolved to make«the best 
of it. 

“I wish to see the master of the house, if you please,” he said. 

“Well, he is asleep just now. Would his daughter answer just as 
well?” 

“I presume so. Certainly,” Chris added, at the same time wonder- 
ing secretly whether this young lady was the daughter. 

“Then be seated, pray, and I will call her,” she placed a rocker for 
him on the portico. 

While Chris was waiting for the daughter’s appearance, he fell to 
deliberating whether it would be wise for him to tell these ladies the 
real purpose of his visit, for now he felt almost certain that these were 
not the Hexams, since there was no attempt at disguise and he thought 
it probable they might give him some material aid, or at least tell him 
where it would most likely be profitable for him to search. Before he 
had fully decided what to do the first young lady re-appeared in the 
door, and behind her came another, just a little taller. It was Flora 
Hexam. 

Chris was on his feet like a flash, and as he pulled away the false 
whiskers with one hand he extended the other and exclaimed: 

“My dear Miss Hexam — it is you after all.” His voice faltered so 

much that he could not trust himself to say more. 

“Why, Mr. Engle, can it be possible that you are here?” Flora re- 
turned, as if more puzzled than delighted. “Really, I am happy to meet 
somebody we know. I must go and wake papa at once.” 

“If he is asleep I beg you will not disturb him. I have heard that 
he is ill to-day.” 

“Oh, then I suppose the doctor told you where we lived. I was 
badly frightened when papa fainted this morning, but the doctor said 
that it was uothing serii»us. I think he is all right now,” 

“But you haven't told me why you ran away from America and 
were hiding here so long,” suggested Ceris. 

The two were alone on the portico now, the other young lady hav- 
ing returned into the house, and Flora was seated on a low step. 

“Why, I hardly understand you,” said Flora, “we came away from 
America because we were tired of living there by ourselves and wanted 
a change, and papa wished me to see the sights in Europe. We^iave 
only been here about a week. Papa used to visit Athens freque ntly 
and he said we would come here and take a good rest. I think it is a de- 
lightful place, and will be quite sorry when papa says we must go.” 

“Are you tired of traveling, then?” 

“Oh, dear, no; but it seems tome I always like the last place 
best. Papa says we are going to Spain next. Have you been there, 
Mr, Engle?” 

“Yes, indeed, I hfive visited every prominent place in Europe within 
the last few months.” 


272 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


“Then you must be worn out with traveling so much.” 

Chris longed to tell her that he would undergo a vast deal more for 
the pleasure of being with her. 

“I cannot say that I have enjoyed traveling as much as you seem to 
have done,” be returned, a little sadly. 

Flora noticed this, and wondered whether he referred to the disap- 
poinment she had given him. From the first she had suspicioned that 
his presence in Athens had reference to herself, and that he was not sat- 
isfied with the answer she had given him on the banks of the Hudson. 
If, indeed, he were pursuing her, then she thought it would be best to 
'have an understanding with him at once, as any delay would only cause 
him the greater pam. And how about herself? Well, no matter what, 
she could not marry him. She had long since decided that. 

“Then why do you persist in traveling so much?” asked Flora de- 
termined to find out his real object before hazarding matters too far, 

“Because I have been searching for some one,” he replied. 

“Have you been successful?” 

“Yes, I have. And I feel a thousand times repaid for all my 
travels.” 

Flora doubted no longer that she had guessed correctly, but she 
was firmly resolved not to draw back. The ordeal must be past, and it 
as well might be now. 

“May I ask whom you have been searching for?” 

“You.” 

Chris now understood that Flora’s questions were not perfectly 
guileless. He was now convinced that she had a motive in asking them 
so pointedly, and he knew what that motive was, but he accepted the 
challenge that his fate might as well be settled now. She was putting 
him on the defensive, though she did not believe that she calculated the 
full strength of that defense. 

“Me” echoed Flora, though not in a surprised or startled tone. 
She was not good at a disguise of any kind. “I do not understand, Mr. 
Engle, why you have been searching for me, after I gave you my decision 
that I could not marry you.” 

“But you did not deny that you loved me,” said Chris. 

•T cannot see that it makes any difference,” returned Flora, wonder- 
ing what he meant. 

“‘Not even if I told you that I know why you refused me?” questioned 
Chris. 

“What do you mean, Mr. Engle?” demanded Flora, though the 
question startled her and the color came and went in her cheeks. 

“I mean just this,” Chris said firmly; “that I know you are the 
widow of Stephen Hobart, a cousin of Mr. Fenton’s; that I know your 
entire history from childhood down to the present hour, and that it was 
these facts of your history that prevented you from accepting my love 
and becoming my wife; that you were evidently afraid of trusting me 


A 1)1 xm gentleman. 


■ 


with your secret, fearing I would cease to love and respect you. I know 
further that you are to me the dearest, sweetest, noblest and best woman 
whom I have ever known, and that my life is not worth the living unless 
you take pity on me and become my wife. Will you deny me now?” 

Flora’s armor was swept completely away. She was almost dum- 
founded at his words, and she hardly had strength to make another pro- 
test, but she felt that it was her duty to do so. 

“I do not know who has told you this, but we must never marry. 
What would your family say when the truth was known.” 

“My darling Flora,” said Chris, as he wound his arm about her yield- 
ing form, “you are entirely mistaken in your views. My parents will 
regard you as a most lovable woman. You seem to forget that nothing 
can now be brought against your good name, if the world should be 
called upon to judge your history, but the truth is that none shall ever 
know it except Mr. Fenton and myself. You are not afraid to trust 
him, and after I have spent time and money in looking for you, racking 
my brain to think of some new’ place to search, and stood willing and 
ready to spend all that I own and years of time rather than give you up; 
after I have dared the storms and the seas and counted them as nothing, 
if you are still afraid to trust me with your life, your happiness, and 
your future good name, then drive me away to-night, and 1 will never, 
never trouble you again.” 

Chris paused, and awaited her reply, but none came. A single tear 
dropped on the hand that clasped hers. 

“Speak, darling, and tell me shall I go or stay.” 

“You may stay,” she said, so low that he could just catch her 
answer. 

Then he bent lower and covered her blushing face with kisses. 

The two remained sitting until it was quite dark, and Chris re- 
counted to Flora the conversation he had with Fenton in which he 
had learned all the details of Flora’s history, the knowledge of which 
had given him a key wherew’ith to unlock her defensive armor and thrust 
aside her objections to a union that would prove happy and blissful to 
both. 

Flora soon recovered from the confusion consequent upon yielding 
herself to such an ardent wooer, and in turn recited many incidents of 
their travels, telling how upon arriving in London they had decided to 
visit Edinburgh and the highlands, where they spent a most delightful 
month among the lakes and beautiful scenery, all of which had reminded 
her so much of the lovely mountain home of her girlhood days. She 
had felt more like herself since that trip than she had done since the 
night Stephen and herself ran away from home — that home to which 
she had once declared she would never return. 

The young lady, whom Flora now introduced to Chris as Miss 
Murray, and who had accompanied them in their travels as her compan- 
ion, appeared at the door and informed Flora that her father was awake 


A l3lXIE gentleman. 


m 

and was calling her. The couple aross and enl ered the parlor, and 
Flora went in search of Mr. Hexam. A full quarter of hour passed, 
during which Miss Murray gave Chris many of the impressions she had 
received from her journey and Chris was ready to vote her very enter- 
taining and intelligenr and quite worthy to be the .companion of his be- 
loved Flora. 

At length Mr. Hexam appeared, with his daughter leaning upon his 
arm, her face kindled with a happy light and a lovely smile. 

“This a most enjoyable surprise,^’ said Mr. Hexam, as he extended 
his hand in greeting to Chris, “and my daughter tells me that §he has de- 
cided to trade me off for another lover. Well, it seems that we never 
know when to count upon the fair sex for a certainty,” and he playfully 
tapped his daughter’s hand. 

“Yet,” he continued directly, “I know of no one in whose keeping 
i should prefer to yield her, and I sincerely trust your wedded lives may 
be long and happy. Take her with my blessing,” and he placed Flora’s 
hand in that of Chris. 

Chris gratefully acknowledged his appreciation of the precious gift, 
and pledged himself that he would never be the means of a complete 
separation between father and daughter, but that each would vie with 
the other in comforting and caring for him in his declining years. 

It was a late hour that night when the happy party broke up, and 
Chris wended his way back to the hotel. The wedding had been settled 
upon to take place during the following week, and he consequently felt 
that he had attackted the enemy, his friends, stormed the citadel, ar.d won 
a rousing victory. Flora had hesitated to name such an early day, but 
was finally persuaded to yield in consequence of preparation soon to be 
made for continuing their journey to Spain, and after a short stay there 
to return to Paris to spend the coming winter. They had decided not 
to return to Ameiica until the next summer or fall. 

In the exuberance of his new-found joy Chris could scarcely contain 
himself that night. He did not attempt to sleep until he had written 
letters to his parents and Fenton. The former he apprised of the fact 
that he would soon wed the loveliest girl whom he had ever met, who 
was the only daughter of a wealthy father, who had but recently owned a 
fine country-seat on the Hudson river, but was now making a tour of 
Europe. Chris was not fearful of their disapproval of his marriage with 
any refined, sensible lady whom he might see fit to choose, and he rightly 
judged that the circumstances he had stated in connection with the 
H exams would at once convince them that his fiance would be most 
pleasing. 

Mrs. Engle had, indeed, heartily approved of a match between Elsie 
Thornton and her son, and at this time she was not aware that Elsie 
had rejected him, though her motherly instinct told her that all was not 
right between them. 

To Fenton Chris wrote that he had captured the prize, thanks to 
his own hearty co-operation, and his gratitude would only cease when 


A t ) mi ^ gentleman. 




life’s dream was ended. He told him of the date set for the wedding 
and of their plans for the coming year, and ended by saying that if provi- 
dence spared their lives they would make it a point to visit him first 
upon their return to America. 

On the next morning Chris hunted up the British physician, and 
grasping him by the hand declared that he was under obligations to him 
which he could never repay, and proceeded to explain the cause of the 
somewhat hysterical condition of his spirits. The doctor congratulated 
Chris most heartily, and protested that he envied his good fortune to 
the last degree. He accepted an invitation to be present at the wedding 
ceremony. 

Perhaps it would be needless for the reader to dwell upon the events 
in the lives of the young couple which followed each other in rapid suc- 
cession during the ensuing year. They were married by a Presbyterian 
clergyman, and in due course took their departure across the beautiful 
Mediterranean waters to the coast of Spain. 

Through this quaint, delightful, old-fashioned country they spent 
the early days of the honeymoon. Previous to their marriage Flora 
had regarded Chris with mingled feelings of a sort of half love, half ad- 
miration and respect. But now her love grew rapidly. He was a com- 
plete revelation to her in many ways. Under the influence of a mind 
stored with useful knowledge and polished wisdom, she felt keenly the 
advantage of his direction and guidance, and as he pointed out to her the 
beauties of nature as well as the accomplishments of enlightened art, 
and was so completely wrapped up in herself that he was conscious of 
her every movement and desire she fully and completely returned his 
love. He became so endeared to her in that brief, happy year that she 
wondered at her former self for believing that she could live happy and 
be contented without him. 

A gay winter was spent at the French capital, and Chris introduced 
his beautiful prize to, a number of his New York acquaintances. He had 
no reason to be jealous, for Flora was devoted to him, and the envious 
looks of his former companions greatly amused him, though they could 
not make him feel prouder of his wife than he was already- 

A greater portion of the next summer was whiled away in pic- 
turesque Holland and Belgium. There a peaceful quiet pervaded their 
wanderings quite in contrast with the busy hum of Paris, and to which 
all of the party were loth to bid adieu. To Flora the parting was 
especially regretful, as she reflected upon the many unhappy days 
through which she had passed in her native land. But her young hus- 
band was willing enough to promise that she might return again as soon 
as she wished, only that he wanted his aged parents to see her and he 
was eager to grasp the hand of their mutual friend — great, kind, unself- 
ish Robert Fenton. 

Chris well knew that only the mention of Fenton’s name was needed 
to win Flora over to any agreement. She never attempted to analyze 


A mxm gen'i'lemam. 


25r6 


her feeling with reference to Fenton, To her this man had seemingly 
moved in a different sphere from ordinary mortals. To her mind, no 
man possessed a higher degree of honor, of all that made man noble and 
manly and deserving of the confidence of woman. She had listened 
with a heart overflowing with sympathy at Chris’ recital of how Elsie 
had misunderstood and driven Fenton away from her, on account of his 
saving an unfortunate girl from ruin and destruction, and that girl her- 
self. Flora realized that Fenton had withheld the facts from Elsie and 
her sister that her own future might be untarnished, and she longed for 
an opportunity to throw herself at his feet and cover his hand with 
kisses of gratitude. 

Now the party were aboard the steamer, homeward bound. Arriv- 
ing at New York, they made a short delay, and then proceeded to 
Washington, where they drove at once to the hotel at which Fenton 
was stopping. In a short time following their arrival Fenton put in an 
appearance. The meeting was unexpected to him at the time, but none 
the less pleasing to him for that. In fact, he declared that he never felt 
a keener zest for handshaking even in his electioneering days, and there 
was more than one pair of eyes dimmed with joyful tears before the 
greetings were over. 

Flora had intended to say something to Fenton that would appro- 
priately express her indebtedness to him. But .her heart was too full for 
utterance. 

“My dear friend, how you have suffered for my sake,” she managed 
to say at last, and then hid her face in her handkerchief. 

“Tut, tut, my dear girl, say nothing more. You will have plenty 
to do worrying with that young man over there without thinking of me. 
I assure you he has been quite out of his head ever since he saw you.” 

This reply was comforting to Flora, so much that she laughed 
through her tears, though she really wished she could do something for 
her life-long friend that would prove her appreciation of. him. How- 
ever, she had always believed that Fenton had understood herself, and 
that he was entirely conscious of her interest in his welfare she did not 
doubt. 

During a quiet talk with Fenton not long afterward Chris was 
astonished to learn that no effort had been made by Elsie to effect a re- 
conciliation. He explained to Fenton that he was at loss to understand 
her silence, and repeated the conversation he had with her previous to 
his departure for Europe, when she had declared that an apology should 
be made. 

Fenton was visibly affected by the information Chris had given him. 

“No apology is necessary from her,” he said, “for I have always 
been aware that she was misinformed, though she denied me the right 
to offer an explanation. But what does it matter now, so long as it is 
evident that she never loved me,” and he drew a heavy sigh. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


277 


“Never loved you!” echoed Chris in astonishment. “Why , what 
do you mean, Mr. Fenton?” 

“Simply that she has never given me a single intimation of regard 
lor me beyond her sincere gratitude for saving her from drowning when 
she was quite a girl.” 

“Then le^ me inform you that she refused to marry me because she 
loved another, and when 1 asked her if that other was you she refused 
to answer. Since she never encouraged any one else in all her life, and 
as you wei*e the only one whom Irene endeavored to prevent her from 
marrying I should arrive at the certain conclusion that you were the one 
she meant. If she had not loved any one she would have said so in so 
many words.” 

“Chris” said Fenton, taking the other’s hand. “You have aroused 
a hope within me that I almost believed was dead. I am going to prove 
your words, and if she indeed loves me as you say then there will be 
something yet for me to live for beyond the mere duties of my’ office. I 
shall return to Melton as soon as my arrangements can be made.” 

“And if Flora and her papa are willing we shall bear you company 
thither.” 

The two immediately went in search of the others, and it was de- 
cided to leave Washington on the following day. The journey was 
made quickly and safely to the little southern hamlet, still lying quietly 
by the waters of the swift, rushing Cumberland. 

A joyful surprise was this home coming to the Meltonites. Every- 
body was glad to see Chris and his charming bride, and none gave him 
a heartier welcome than his doting parents. The people of the little 
village had watched him grow from childhood to manhood’s estate, and 
one and all were proud to think that he had won a helpmate who seemed 
in every way worthy of him, and to whom he was so entirely devoted. 

It is useless to attempt a faithful protrayal of the emotions, which 
affected Fenton since the hour when he had learned of Elsie’s faithful 
love during all these unhappy months. He was just as eager to reach 
Melton as he had been upon that other occasion when he had been 
turned away upon the threshold of her father’s house, without a solitary 
word to comfort a great, hungering love. He would not allow himself 
to hope tor too much this time. Perhaps after all there might be some 
miserable mistake. Chris may have misunderstood her meaning, or 
possibly he was not the one she loved. 

But Fenton was now at Melton, and one of the first to grasp his 
hand was the old judge himself. He ordered the young congressman to 
brush the dust of travel from his clothing, and prepare to accompany him 
to tea. He declared this thing of pleading business engagements was 
growing quite threadbare. It was not impossible, he said, that his fam- 
ily might scold a little for bringing an entire stranger with out pre- 
vious warning, but he would let Fenton stand the consequences of mak- 
ing a new introduction necessary. In truth, Fenton made haste to obey 


278 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


the judge’s command, as he thought it would present as easy a way in 
which to test his fate as any. 

Apparently the subject of conversation between Fenton and the 
judge, on the way to the latter’s residence, was as remote from any in- 
timation of a love affair as were the poles from the equator. The judge 
was keenly alive to the current issues of the day, arid lived over again 
his life at the capital under Fenton’s stirring word pictures. When the 
two were ushered in at the tea-table Mrs. Thornton and Elsie were 
there to receive them, the former greeting them with a welcome that 
proved her loyalty to Fenton’s cause beyoud a doubt. 

Was Elsie’s smile of welcome forced or real? Fenton at first could , 
not for the life of him determine. Could she be deceiving her parents 
in an effort to make him feel pleasant as a guest, while in secret she de- 
sired to turn her back upon him, as she had when he last saw her? The 
events of that night rose vividly to Fenton’s mind now. He could not 
hanish the fear that he had assured himself too much in visiting the 
house under the ban of her displeasure. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 




CHAPTER XXIV. 

Fenton confessed to himself that there was a decided change in 
Elsie’s face. The bright, laughing eyes that once held him spell-bound 
beneath their witchery had grown sad and grave in expression, yet their 
beauty was there, and when his questioning glance met hers the eyelids 
drooped and her eyes were averted when she again opened them. Her 
calm, quiet, low-toned words of greeting became her no less than did 
her former exuberant overflow of buoyant spirits, and yet the latter’s 
absence was a keen disappointment to Fenton. Not that he loved her 
less — that could never be — but that he felt she must have suffered very 
much indeed to bring about such a change. If it had qpt been for 
him or because of him, then it was for some one. He could scarcely 
bear to think of her suffering for anyone; his was a pure and unselfish 
love. 

All of this and much more was passing through Fenton’s mind at 
the tea-table, and though he made a bold attempt to be agreeable and 
entertaining toward his kind host and hostess he was quite relieved 
when the tea was finally served and the party repaired to the parlor, 
where they engaged in a general conversation for some time, Elsie at 
length entertaining them with a skillful performance at the piano. Al- 
most before Fenton was aware of it the judge and his wife had quietly 
withdrawn from the room, leaving the young couple alone. No sooner 
had they done so, however, than Elsie at once ceased playing, abruptly 
leaving her seat at the instrument for one nearer to the armchair 
where Fenton was sitting. A sudden pallor came to her face, and 
Fenton at first feared that she was growing ill, but she motioned him to 
silence. - 

“You will pardon me, Mr. Fenton, but papa and mamma have left 
the room at my request. You will soon know the reason.” It seemed 
a great effort for Elsie to speak these words, but presently she continued 
in a very low tone: 

“You have for a long time doubtless been very angry with me on ac- 
count of my rude conduct toward you, and I will not attempt to deny 
that you have a right to be. I wish to say to you now, as it may be my 
last opportunity, that my rudeness toward you was not of my own free 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


2S0 


will, but in compliance with my promise to another and governed by 
circumstances. I had no choice when you declined to answer my ques- 
tion, though I have many times regretted making such a promise. I 
know now how foolish it was. Still I do not seek to throw the blame 
upon some one else. In effect I have accused you of being a dishonora- 
ble man, and though I know now, and always believed my accusation to 
be untrue, yet I hardly dare to ask you for forgiveness. I know that I 
can have no further claim upon your esteem. I had determined, should 
you ever visit my father’s house, to make this explanation, which was 
due to you, and humbly beg for your forgiveness, but to seek it other- 
wise, it seemed to me, would be misconstrued into asking for a com- 
' plete restoration in your esteem. This was asking more than you could 
in justice grant, and hence I have remained silent. I desire now to 
ask your pardon for my rude unladylike conduct, and I promise 
ever after that the past between us shall be as if it had never 
existed,” 

Elsie was laboring under a mental strain that was illy concealed, 
and she concluded with a sigh of relief as if the effort she had made had 
been carefully studied and yet was almost to much for her to endure. 
Fenton was greatly perplexed how to undersand her. She had hinted 
nothing of a former affection for him. He had sifted every word care- 
fully. If she cared for him beyond the ties of friendship, if she had ever 
loved him she had not betrayed that love by a single word. But now was 
his opportuiiity to get the truth, and he was determined to make the 
effort, 

“Miss Elsie, you have unduly agitated yourself about something 
that I have held in little consequence, but since you make the request 1 
will consent to your pardon upon one condition.” 

“And what is it?” she asked in a tone of surprise. 

“That you will tell me what your answer would have been on that 
memorable occasion when you was so rude to me.” 

“Why, that — oh, Mr. Fenton,” she stammered, “I had rather not 
do so. That is all over now.” 

Fenton leaned forward and took her little hand in his great one. 

“Tell me, my little girl, why it is all over between us now. Can 
you not see that my heart is breaking for one endearing word from your 
lips? Do you not know that, rather than utter one word of pardon for 
anything you have said or done to me in all your life, I would prefer to 
turn my back upon home, friends, everything, and go to an unknown 
land? Tell me, is it your wish that all should be over between us? 
Tell me the truth, whatever it may be, and I will try to bear it.” 

Why, what ails the girl? The old light is brightening her eyes. 
They flash a laughing gleam up toward Fenton’s, but they are filling 
with tears, which are beginning to stain her lovely cheeks. Fenton’s 
suspense was ended. 

“Not if you wish it otherwise,” Elsie said simply. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


281 


Fenton hardly believed he heard aright. 

‘•Then you will be my darling wife, after all?” 

“Yes” 

Further conversation was in inaudible for some time afterward, and 
it was probably an hour until Fenton led Elsie into the library, where 
Judge Thornton and his wife were seated and requested the privilege of 
becoming a member of the family. The judge professed to be greatly 
surprised at first, but when Mrs. Thornton declared she had long ago 
known the young couple were meant for each other, he admitted that he 
had been studying how to bring the match about, but tound that he was 
•not an adept at that sort of politics. 

Was Fenton walking on air as he went to his lodgings that night? 
He surely had a suspicion of that sort, as the ground did not disturb his 
reflections. Is it to be wondered if he compared his reflections upon 
that occasion with those of one other night after he had quitted the 
Thornton mansion? 

Meltonites never remember to have seen Mr. Robert Fenton look- 
ing happier or more jovial than on the day following his arrival at home. 
Some may have thought it a little strange that he had suddenly found 
his duties in Congress so very delightful, at least his manner rather be- 
fitted the young lawyer they had known so long rather than the grave 
and sedate statesman they had been acquainted with for the past year or 
two. There were at least two people, however, besides himself and the 
judge’s family, who were into the secret of Fenton’s gayety. Chris and 
Flora were so deeply in sympathy with him that their actions were re- 
garded by .some would-be wise heads as almost childish. This, though, 
was attributed to the belief that the happy young couple had not fully 
recovered from the effects of the honeymoon, and therefore should be al- 
lowed some privileges. 

. Chris and Flora were seated upon the front piazza at his father’s 
elegant mansion, and he had just finished relating to her how he had met 
Fenton a short while before, and learned that the reconciliation between 
the latter and Elsie had been affected and that they were engaged to be 
married, when two ladies drove up to the house in a brougham and 
alighted. It was Mrs. Thornton and Elsie, and they were calling upon 
the new arrivals from Europe. Chris stepped forward to greet them, 
and at once presented them to Flora. Elsie and Flora were lovers at 
first sight. Their first meeting was only the outward form of friend- 
ship that had long existed between them, and that seemed to increase 
and ripen as the years rolled on. Each was charmed with the rare 
beauty of the other, and while perhaps they would not hav-e have dif- 
fered greatly in a general description, both being extremely fair and 
with brown tresses, though Flora’s were dark while Elsie’s were light, 
• yet all who saw them together that day and many times thereafter ad- 
mitted that there were very few like them. 

For the first time in many weary months Fenton was seen walking 
home with Elsie that day, and some who had long hoped that the two 


282 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


might make a match began to believe that perhaps they might not be 
disappointed after all, only Fenton was getting to be such a confirmed 
old bachelor. It had really seemed a hard matter to get him to neglect 
business long enough to look at a young lady twice in succession. 

Whatever they might have imagined or did think, it was certainly 
settled during that walk when the two were to be married. Fenton 
argued long and earnestly that he had waited long enough for his bride, 
and wanted the ceremony to admit of the least possible delay. But 
Elsie claimed that she would prefer to remain single until the coming 
holidays, as she had much to do to properly prepare for the occasion, 
and with this decision Fenton was forced to be content. 

Only for a day or so longer did Fenton remain at Melton, and then 
hurried back to his duties at the capital, full of regrets at his enforced 
absence from the treasure which had suddenly seemed to become more 
precious to him than ever, and yet determining in his own mind that he 
would now bend all his energies toward a rapid scaling of the ladder of 
fame, that he might prove worthy of the love and honor that was so fully 
and unreservedly his. 

He had already seen many opportunities for placing himself among 
the foremost of all his colleagues, but he had lacked the ambition to 
seize them and carelessly allowed them to pass on to others more zealous. 
Now all was changed. He had something to stir his zeal and ambition 
to loftier aims. The love of a pure and noble woman nerved him to the 
accomplishment of all of which his energies were capable, and hence it is 
not strange that he soon began to attract attention by his skillful debates 
upon the floor of the house of representatives. The name of Fenton 
was on everyone’s lips. The stalwarts of the north and the fire-eaters 
of the south were becoming more careful in their challenges to debate 
questions of public interest when it was known that Fenton might enter 
the list against them. 

He made it especially plain to some of the northern statesmen that 
he relied upon something besides a spirit of braggadocio which had 
formerly characterized many of the southern members, and their feeling 
toward him in consequence rapidly centered into Oiie of cordial respect. In 
short, he became respected not only for the talents which he plainly pos- 
sessed, but almost as popular with the 'members from the north as with 
those from his own section. 

About this time a bill was introduced into congress having reference 
to the better education of the illiterates of the South, both black and 
white, though of course mainly intended to benefit the negro race. 
That the North would have been willing to aid such a measure there 
was little doubt, and its passage into a law seemed to depend entirely 
upon whether the South would accept it. The South needed financial 
assistance in the matter of education, but the political leaders of that 
section, or at least a large number of them, opposed this bill because it 
would give education to the negro. They labored hard to persuade the 
people that it was not best to have the negno educated. The legisia- 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


283 


tures of the southern states were importuned to vote against receiving 
the benefits of the bill. 

Upon this measure Fenton was urged by representatives of both 
sections to make a speech and he consented to do so. His increasing 
popularity had aroused a great desire in many outsiders to hear him 
speak. It was evident to all that what he had to say upon the educa- 
tional bill would have great weight with all sides, and when the hour 
arrived at which he was to take the floor the galleries were packed to 
the utmost limit with the refinement and intelligence of Washington so- 
ciety. The gallery devoted exclusively to the use of foreign diplomats 
and their friends was filled, and senators and other officerc of the govern- 
ment were thickly gathered upon the floor of the house. 

It was a great and trying hour for Fenton, and as he looked quietly 
and composedly around, while yet in his seat, at the vast throng of ex- 
])ectant faces he realized what success or failure at that time meant. 
His future usefulness as a statesman depended in a great measure upon 
his efforts within the next hour. Fully conscious of this, and never 
more alive to the necessity of making a good impression, he arose and 
addressed the speaker with a wonderful self-command, seemingly as 
much at ease as when he intended to address a jury in a little court- 
house down in his adopted State. 

Thus the victory was half won in the minds of a majority of his 
audience. The impression grew stronger when he had commenced 
speaking, and he soon skillfully transfered the attention of his distin- 
guished hearers from himself to that of his subject. He pictured the ig- 
norance of the negro race at the close of the war in its awful reality and 
told of the rude structures where some of them were still trying to get 
ever so little of the light which liberty had vouchsafed to them. He 
had referred to the promise he had made in his first campaign that he 
would labor to avert the danger which threatened the people of the 
South through continued ignorance of the negro. The rapid changes 
in the negro’s condition within the last twenty-five years had proven 
that he was capable of education. There was no need for the govern- 
ment to deny that which in the very nature of things he was bound to 
have in the course of time. The only objection he had to the provision 
of the bill was that the negro might be able to get along without any 
assistance in a short time. 

Such were some of the principal points of Fenton’s argument. All 
of them were undoubtedly well handled, and if the vote could have been 
taken upon the measure then and there it would have been passed almost 
unanimously. Frequent applanse greeting his. telling points, and per- 
haps there was not one of his fellow members present who did not 
envy the young man’s position as he rapidly won his way to the hearts 
of his audience. Attention was riveted upon his every utterance, and 
when at last he had finished his wonderful speech and had taken his seat, 
his colleagues, of all shades of opinion, fathered about him and tenderecj 
their congratulations, 


284 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


Nor was the scene enacted here the end of it all, The fame of his 
great effort went out all over the land. The business man and 'the 
minister stopped to discuss it. The enemies of the bill became alarmed 
lest the decision of Fenton should defeat them, and despite the eloquent 
truths which he had uttered they succeeded in getting many of the 
southern legislatures to protest against the passage c>f the bill, the con- 
sequence of which was that congiess dallied with it a long time and fin- 
ally dropped its consideration altogether. 

But the final result of the measure had no effect upon Fenton’s pop- 
ularity. The better class of people, north and south, realized that he 
had taken a firm stand in the right direction, and that he could be 
thoroughly trusted upon all important questions before the country. 
From that time his fame may be said to have become national, and his 
influence was courted by all sides. 

*********** * 

It is a cold afternoon in the early part of December, and Irene 
Thornton is sitting before the grate in her aunt’s library at Nashville. 
She is all alone, and she has been weeping. Perhaps they are tears of 
remorse; perhaps they are bitter tears of vexation, more likely the lat- 
ter. An open letter lies in her lap, from her sister Elsie. In it is the 
story of Flora Engle’s life, from the hour when she carried a bucket of 
water up the hill to Mr. White’s house down to the time when Elsie 
and her mother greeted her on Mr. Engle’s piazza. Of course this his- 
tory has inciuded a portion of Mr. Fenton’s history. Without one word 
of comment upon the mistakes of Irene, or a single phrase of condem- 
nation, Elsie closes her characteristic letter with an invitation to her 
wedding on the 23rd of December. 

Irene is at length aroused from the reverie into which she had fallen 
by a knock on the door, and hastily drying her tears she bids the visitor 
enter. One of her cousins, a young lady nearly Irene’s age, comes in, 
holding in her hand a newspaper. 

“There is quite an extended notice of your Melton friend in con- 
gress, Mr. Fenton. He spoke last night to a crowded house, and his 
speech has become the subject of conversation everywhere. Really, I 
think he must be getting quite famous. Why don’t you set your cap for 
him, cousin?” 

“I hardly think it would be of any use. He is already spoken 

for.” 

“Well, I expected as, much. You men like him are pretty scarce 
nowadays. But who is the lucky young lady?” 

“Miss Elsie Thornton.” 

“Is it possible? But why didn’t you tell me before?” 

“Because I have just received the letter giving me the news.” 

“So sudden as that? Why, Elsie must have been pretty sly. I did 
not think she would treat you that way.” 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN, 


285 


But Irene expressed no opinion as to her sister’s slyness. She knew 
that Elsie was the personification of magnanimity, or else she would 
have scorned her as she deserved. However, she now knew there was 
nothing to fear from that quarter, and the question was a*s to how Mr. 
Fenton would treat her. Could she really humilate herself so much as 
to face him again after all he had suffered through her? There was not 
the slightest ground upon which to justify her old prejudice against him, 
since time and justice had swept away every flimsy pretext upon which 
she had relied to vanquish him. 

The ordeal, however trying to her proud spirit, must be undergone. 
Society would never brook her absence at her sister’s wedding and con- 
sequently she would prepare to make the best of it. Two days* before 
the day set for the wedding Irene put in an appearance at Melton, and 
really appeared as chatty and lively as if she had been the chief instiga- 
tor in getting up the match. This outward show could not be main- 
tained as the hour approached for Fenton’s arrival, and Elsie’s watchful 
eyes noticed that she was anxious and worried. 

Invitations were out and society people from a distance began to 
come in at the Thornton mansion. The grand old house and grounds 
presented their neatest attire, for, although mid-winter, there had as yet 
been no chilling frosts and much of the shrubbery presented a cheerful 
appearance usual to a late fall. Inside the house was a vertiable glen of 
forest and flowers, the air being heavily laden with the scent of pinks 
and roses. Judge Thornton was determined that the occasion should be 
a memorable one in his household in more ways than one. He took es- 
pecial pride in superintending the arrangements, not forgetting anything 
that might lend a charm to the occasion. 

Elsie herself had grown more lovely than ever, her face becoming 
full and round as of yore, and the laughing eyes and the dimpled cheeks 
had resumed their sway over the hearts of all mankind. There, too, 
was her shadow. Flora Engle. Each realized that there must soon be a* 
separation, either short or long, and they seemed as if afraid to lose 
sight of each other for a single moment. 

Thus the preparation goes merrily on, and soon the hour arrived 
when the house began filling with guests. News had reached Elsie that 
the bridegroom-elect had returned to Melton and would soon be with 
her. Joyous excitement was running high, and for some time little 
thought had been given to Irene. At nearly the last moment Elsie miss- 
ed her and hurried off in search of her.. Going from room to room, 
she at last found her in an old, unused room, lying on a couch in a dead 
faint. At the first touch Elsie believed her dead. She screamed loudly 
two or three times for help, and the startled guests and servants hurried 
to her assistance. 

Irene liad brooded over the dreaded meeting with Fenton, and her 
nerves were strung to the highest pitch. When the time came some- 
thing unusual had startled her, perhaps a loud peal at the doorbell, and 
she immediately fell into a swoon. It was an hour before she was 


286 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


restored to consciousness, even then she appeared to be in a great state 
of mental excitement. The physician prescribed absolute rest and quiet 
as necessary for her complete recovery, and administered an opiate 
so that she sdon sank into a deep slumber and was removed to her own 
room. 

The wedding ceremony proceeded without further interuption, 
though the shock which the guests had sustained possibly rendered the 
occasion more subdued in tone that it would otherwise have been. 
There was a general feeling of relief, however, to find that no serious 
danger was apprehended in Irene’s condition. Fenton and Elsie were 
duly pronounced man and wife, and thus the long trials of single blessed- 
ness were ended in a happy realization of their dreams. The bells of the 
sleepy old town rnag out merrily in honor of the event, and each and all 
of the Meltonites seemed to enjoy the affair as much as the bride and 
groom. 

The shock to Irene’s nerves proved to be something more than or- 
dinary, as the doctor ascertained on the day following that he had not 
only to contend with nervous prostration, but a well developed and dan- 
gerous case of brain fever. She raved continually in her delirium and 
her cries to Fenton for mercy and forgiveness were pitiful to hear. Fen- 
ton, who had never felt bitterly joward her, even though conscious of 
her unjust treatment, was deeply moved with compassion for her, and 
instructed Elsie to inform her, as soon as she could be brought to con- 
sciousness, that he fully and freely forgave her all, and that he longed 
for an opportunity to perform some act of brotherly kindness for her. 

But days had lengthened into weeks and a month had passed before 
the delirium had left Irene, restored in mind, though a complete shadow 
of her former self. At last she lay quietly watching the moving figures 
about the room, and remembered that the wedding was soon to take 
place. She thought, too, of the reproaches she would have to face 
from Fenton, but she felt too weak to resist or regret. She felt that 
she deserved them, and it was best to take them quietly and have it all 
over. There was Elsie coming toward her, but she did not have on her 
wedding gown. 

“How about the wedding?” she asked, with a voice so strange that 
she wondered at herself. 

“Why, dear sister, the wedding took place a month ago, and you 
have been very ill. But the doctor said you must noi try to talk. I 
will tell you all when you are stronger.” 

“But tell me one thing, please, did Mr. Fenton scold me very 
much.” 

“Bless yoii, no,” laughed Elsie. “He told me that he forgave you 
everything, and that he wanted you to hurry up and get well, so that 
you could go to Washington and witness the inaugrual ceremonies. Flora 
and Chris are to go with us. Now go to sleep and get a good rest.” 

And Irene turned her face away, with a faint smile on her lips and 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


287 


tears in her eyes, and felt as though she could rest peacefully and forever. 

Her recovery from this time forward was rapid, and two weeks 
later when Fenton returned from Washington, she was able to sit up by 
the fire in a great arm-chair. She knew that he was coming, but it was 
only a slight rustle that caused her to look up from the grate to see 
Fenton standing by her and Elsie holding to his arm. Both were 
watching her with repressed merriment visible on their countenances, 
and Irene at once held out her hand. 

“I am all unworthy,” she said. 

Fenton took her hand, and, with a merry sparkle in his eye, said: 

“If you really want to keep me from being angry you must look 
more like your former radiant self, and let me hear a few of those jolly 
laughs.” 

“Well”, she said, rather feebly, “I am going to try my best, then.” 

In two weeks more the gay party were on their way to Washing, 
ton, where they had ample opportunity to witness the deference which 
was being shown to Fenton at every hand. His beautiful bride, too, 
came in for her share of the compliments showered upon them. The 
season was to be a short one, and Fenton was very busy, as he was a 
member of one of the principal committees in the house. A large por- 
tion of their time was taken up in making arrangements for the coming 
season, and as a democratic president was to be inaugurated it was the 
conviction of a great many of Fenton’s friends that he would be 
tendered some important position under the government. 

When the inaugural ceremonies were concluded and a large portion 
of the country was rejoicing over the accession to power of the first 
democratic president in many long years, the party turned their faces 
toward the banks of the beautiful Hudson, and ere long reached the 
former home of the Hexam’s, which Mr. Hexam had repurchased as a 
gift to Chris and Flora. The old gentleman had preceeded them to the 
place and had devoted much time to furnishing the house and beautify- 
ing the landscape, his labors being highly appreciated and complimented 
by the young people, 

A gay party of visitors thronged this beautiful place during the fol- 
lowing summer, comprising acquaintanaes of Chris, Fenton and the 
Thornton’s from Nashville, New York, Washington and other places. 
Even Judge Thornton and his devoted wife were prevailed upon to make 
a visit there, and notwithstanding the fatigue of travel they both enjoyed 
it very much. « 

There were two other visitors that summer whose names should be 
mentioned. At one time Flora had not believed it possible that she 
would ever again so relent toward her uncle and aunt as to make a visit 
to her old mountain home. She longed in her heart to see the familiar 
place. How glad she would be to gaze once more upon the lofty 
trees, and sit beneath the wide-spreading branches of the beeches, 
and to watch the silent, but swiftly flowing river. Often her memory 


288 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


reverted to the childish fancies which came to her beneath their charm, 
yet her heart would harden against the neglect which her youth had suffered. 

But time and circumstances could not fail to soften the rigid lines 
of susceptible Flora’s life, and the loving influences which so completely 
surrounded her in after years mellowed the harsher memories and relaxed 
the determination of an unforgiving spirit. Though she could not 
make up her mind to revisit the old home, the constant urging of 
Chris was not without effect, and she finally consented to write a cor- 
dial invitation to Mr. White and his wife to spend the summer on tlic 
Hudson. 

This invitation was a great surprise to the honest well-meaning 
couple, who, though falling into an error common to many people, as in 
little Flora’s case, had still adhered strictly to what they believed was 
their duty. They were honestly glad to find that Flora had softened 
toward them, and after considering the possibility of taking such a long 
journey they decided to accept the invitation. Used as they have been 
for so long a time to a simple, plain life in the mountains, this visit to 
Flora’s home was like a revelation of beauty and grandeur. And it 
seemed like a dream that the stately and gracious young lady who wel- 
comed them there was their long-lost little Flora. 

There was no trace of resentment in Flora’s face when she saw the 
gray-haired, bent forms of her uncle and aunt coming toward her. She 
knew from their faces that they had suffered sufficient atonement, and in 
their bewildered gaze, as they doubted their own senses at the great 
change wrought in her manner and appearance, she read their unqualified 
approval of all her life since leaving their roof. 

After all the storms and shadows, the doubts and misgivings, troubles 
and heart-aches of the previous years, is it any wonder that the summer 
spent at the Hexam home was like the thirsty traveler reaching an oasis 
in a great desert. It is not to be doubled that Fenton and Chris with 
their lovely wives, enjoyed its delights more than all others. They en- 
deavored to give themselves up thoroughly to the enjoyment of the season, 
and they, succeeded most admirably. All too swiftly the summer passed, 
the long, balmy days were speeding away and the brown leaves of 
autumn warned the visitors that business cares must again be taken up. 

Then it was that one day an announcement came that Fenton was 
wanted at the capital, in connection with a foreign appointment. Haste 
was imperative, and bidding a brief adeieu to his young wife and friends, 
he set out at once for Washington. Arriving there, he called without 
delay upon the president, who informed Fenton that he had been strongly 
recommended for the position of minister to France, and he desired to 
be informed whether he could accept of the appointment. No honors 
of any kind had been sought by Fenton at the hands of the adminis- 
tration, and of course the offer was a complete surprise to him. He 
thanked the president warmly, but begged tor a little time to consider 
the matter, which was granted. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


289 


Certainly Fenton was not blind to the honor sought to be conferred 
upon him, but he had always upheld duty as formost in every consider- 
ation, and it was a question at first with him as to whether his duty lay 
in serving his constituents in Congress or in heeding the voice of 
the president calling him to a position of higher trust. In his 
dillema he at length resolved to leave the whole matter in the hands of 
Judge Thornton, whose advice he had always hitherto been careful to 
heed. So he telegraphed immediately to the judge, and back came the 
answer promptly: 

“Do not accept. The country has further need of your services at 
home.” 

Mr. Fenton thanked the president for his desire to do him so great 
an honor, but was fain to accept the advice of his old friend and partner, 
especially since the latter’s views on the matter so fully coincided with 
his own. 


2g6 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER XXV— Conclusion. 

One beautiful, sunshiny afternoon Tn this same autumn season, an 
old man was seen ambling slowly and with halting steps, along the side- 
walk of the large public square at Cedartown, pausing every now and 
then to examine the numerous signs displayed over the door-ways of the 
stores and various offices — medical, legal and otherwise — which the little 
city boasted. 

Soon he seems to be more than usually attracted by a bright new 
sign bearing the announcement “Felix Joran, Attorney at Law.” Look- 
ing closely, as if he could read with the greatest difficulty, and to assure 
himself that he was making no mistake, the old man turned cautiously 
towards the door, and shaded his eyes with one hand so that he could 
peer through the glass. Within he saw a man bending over a desk, 
busily engaged in writing. Then the old man turned the door-knob, 
pushed the door carefully open, as though he did not want to attract too 
much attention, and stepped inside. The man at the desk did not look 
up until roused to the fact that someone besides himself was in the room 
by being thus addressed: 

“This is Mr. Joran, I believe?” 

The writer merely glanced at the visitor, and replied, with a long 
drawl, “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” and was on the point of re- 
suming his writing, when he looked at the old man a little ch»ser. “Why, 
this is Henry Hobart; how do you do, sir? It has been several years 
since I have met you, aud I hardly knew you at first. What brings you 
so far from home?” 

At first old man Hobart seemed pleased to be recognized by the 
lawyer, but the last question caused him to drop his eyes toward the 
floor and shake his head rather disconsolately. 

“I am afraid, sir, that I have no home; or leastways, it won’t be 
mine for long. We have seen some pretty hard times up our way 
lately.” 

“How so, sir,” asked the lawyer, with a kindly look upon his face 
that betokened a great change in his appearance from his younger days, 

“Well, my place has been under a heavy mortgage for several years, 
and things generally have been going to the bad. I have tried several 
ways to keep from being turned out, but now it seems I kin do nothin’ 
more. I am just on my way back from Nashville where I took down a 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


291 


little raft of logs, but there was no sale for ’em at any price at prseent, 
and so I just had to leave ’em there and trudge back home.” 

“But you are not going all the way back home on foot?” said the 
lawyer, in astonishment. 

“Yes,” replied the old man, “but that would be nothing if I knowed 
what was to become of my old woman and myself when we are turned 
out of house and home,” and he turned away his head to hide a tear 
that was stealing down his withered face. 

“What has become of your son, Charles; isn’t he living with you 
yet.” 

“No, Charles went out west more than two years sgo. We heard 
from him two or three times shortly after he left, but while I have wrote 
a good many letters since, he does not answer, and I don’t know whether 
he is living or dead.” 

“But haven’t you some other friends up there who can help you out 
of your trouble?” 

“None that I know of. The trouble I had with the Whites seem 
to hev put most of the people down on me, and I suppose that is one 
reason that I have had such a hard time of it.” 

“Why don’t you apply to your cousin, Robert Fenton, for assistance? 
He is able to help you.” 

“Ask that scoundrel to help me? Never! I’d rather starve,” and the 
old man raised his head and gazed at the questioner with a look of scorn. 

“But Fenton is not a scoundrel,” said the lawyer; “he is every inch 
a true born gentleman, and a whole-souled one at that.” 

“You say that?” echoed the old man incredulously, ,‘and that, too, 
when he did everything he could to ruin and defeat you, and basely be- 
trayed me in the law-suit at Melton. What in the world has changed 
your opinion of him?” 

“Simply that both of us were in the wrong, while Fenton was in 
the right, and necessarily bound to win. He was not only right but he 
was not revengeful. More than that, I must give him credit for being a 
much shrewder man than myself. After he went to Washington he 
learned how I had been swindled out of all my possessions in some min- 
ing speculations. He might have gloated over my misfortune, but he 
didn’t. Instead, he set to work to unravel the scheme by which I had 
been swindled. The result was, he discovered that my speculations were 
still safe, and had increased considerably in value, but were in danger of 
being appropriated by some sharpers. He proceeded to block their 
schemes, and put me in a way to recover the whole of my loss and more 
besides, while the income from the mines will soon make me a wealthy 
man. What do you think of that for a scoundrel?” 

The old man stood like one electrified, seeming to have utterly lost 
the power of speech. For two or three moments he said nothing, but 
finally manageci to admit that Fenton had acted very liberally toward 
Mr. Joran, but doubting if he could expected similar treatment for 
himself. 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


292 


“But I tell you,” persisted the lawyer, “that you don’t understand 
the man as I do now. When it appeared to me and every one that he 
had sufficient cause to harbor resentment against me and do me all the 
injury in his power, he seemed rather to single me out as one whom he 
should especially befriend. I can truly say that I have never before 
understood the meaning of magnanimity, and I value that understanding 
more than I do the recovery of my lost wealth.” 

“Well,” said the old man, “it must be as you say. But I think I 
would rather go to anyone else for assistance after the way I have treated 
him. I have been guilty of a good deal of petty meanness in my life- 
time, and it has all come home to me at last. Let come what will here- 
after, I have resolved to be an honest man. But you know every man 
has some pride, and I think I had rather starve than to ask Robert Fen- 
ton’s assistance. No; I can’t do that.” And so saying, he turned toward 
the door with a gesture that indicated the utter hopelessness of his cause. 

‘•Now look here,” old man,” said the lawyer, “that is nonsense. 
You can depend upon it that Fenton doesn’t know your true condition. 
How much is the mortgage on your place?” 

“Five hundred dollars.” 

“Very well. Now, you take this bill and pay your fare home. 
Leave the re.st to me.” 

Hobart turned and gazed at the bill doubtfully a moment, and then 
reached out his hand for it, 

“I am very much obliged to you, sir. I will return it as soon as 
possible.” 

“All right,”, returned the lawyer. “You can rest easy on that 
score.” 

Thus the two parted and Mr. Joran proceeded to finish the brief 
upon which he had been engaged when the old man interrupted him. 
When he had concluded his work for the day and had dismissed his last 
caller, he sat down to write a letter to Fenton in behalf of his helpless 
old uncle. The reader has noticed that a great change has been wrought 
in the Lawyer Joran of former days. The protrayal of his character has 
doubtless been as harsh and unpleasant to the reader as it has been to 
the writer, and, as it draws to a close, it is exceedingly plea'sant ts be en- 
abled to tone down some of the rough, jagged points and render the lines 
more even in the life of one whom without many such there could be no 
world of men and woman. As he .sits there writing a request for charity 
and benevolence to one whom he loves like a brother, one can readily 
understand why he was not cut off in his arrogrance and deceit and his 
betrayal of a great trust, 

> These years have brought a great happiness and contentment to the 
lawyer, but not before his vaunted pride had met with a great knock- 
down argument. When the false training of his youth had given way to 
the severest lesson that could be administered, then he began to pro-sper. 
As we leave him engaged in a labor of love and charity, we have no mis- 
givings when it is hinted that he may quietly insert a few words in that 


A DIXIE GENTLEMAN. 


293 


letter concerning Fenton’s beautiful sister-in-law; neither must the reader 
be surprised that when the message is conveyed to Irene she will begin 
to count the days when his business will allow him to pay them his long 
promised visit. Mr. Joran still possesses objects in life worth striving for, 
but the old look of cunning and greed has vanished from his eyes forever. 

It w’ould be useless to relate the history of the appeal which Mr. 
Joran wrote to Fenton in behalf of his uncle. And however interesting 
the consultation over the matter, held by Fenton, Chris, Mn White 
and Mr. Hexam, together with all the ladies of the household, and how 
it was decided to pardon the old man by yielding to Mr. Joran’s appeal, 
and to forward by Mr. White sufficient means to protect the Hobart 
home and care for his necessities. The natural consequences may just 
as well by imagined as written. 

To receive at the hands of his old enemy this token of complete 
forgiveness was amply sufficient to quench the last spark of animosity in 
the Hobart breast, and the boast of Mr. Whitenow is that, of all his good 
neighbors, old man Hobart seems to be the happiest and most indus- 
trious, for the old man is determined to pay that debt. 

Near by the shades of dear old Melton there has been lately 
erected a handsome villa, known far and wide as the home of the rising 
statesman, Mr. Robert Fenton, and his gracious wife. What he may 
become in the near future it is difficult to say, but, whatever the honors 
that may come to him, his large circle of friends, both social and polit- 
ical, claim that he has deserved it all. 


THE END. 



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